


Risk

by themantlingdark



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-13 18:41:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16897908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themantlingdark/pseuds/themantlingdark
Summary: I can't disable commenting on this site. If I could, I would. Please pretend that I have.





	Risk

They're playing truth or dare.

Loki always takes dare.

“Fuck the next person who walks through the door.”

Loki watches the door.

And it's Thor, striding in and scanning the room, catching Loki's eye and nodding at him before heading to the bar to order a drink.

Loki laughs.

“You timed that perfectly. Did you see him coming?”

“No, it was fate.”

Loki snorts.

“Go on, then,” Eitri says. “Get to it.”

“Ha ha,” Loki drawls.

Loki's companion is wealthy and bored.

Loki is a poet who works in a VFX studio to pay the bills.

He hangs out with Eitri to remind himself that one can have everything and nothing all at once, and because he always gets the check.

Loki is watching the bartender flirt with his brother.

“I'll make you a millionaire.”

“Hmm?” Loki says, pretending not to be paying attention.

“If you can fuck your pretty brother.”

“That's a hell of a kink you've got there.”

“Is it?”

“Massive,” Loki confirms.

“He'll have his drinks in a second. He's got one for you. Not me, though.”

“He hates you.”

“He hides it well.”

“No he doesn't.”

“Half a minute until he's over here. One million dollars. Yes or no?”

“Couldn't do it in one night.”

“One year.”

“Possibly,” Loki says, shrugging.

“One year. Take it or leave it.”

“Take it,” Loki says, and drains his gin and tonic as his brother slides into the seat beside him and hands him another.

Loki has a head start here. In high school he had wanted to hate Thor, because Thor was everything Loki thought he wanted to be. But, deep down, he knew the truth: he didn't want to be Thor, he wanted Thor to be his. Eitri has just offered to pay him to do what he has always wanted to do. It would be stupid not to try. Ungrateful, even. Loki won't look a gift horse in the mouth.

But where Thor stands, he isn't sure.

They are closer than most siblings of their age. They spend a lot of their free time together. Live in the same city. And even when they were at each other's throats all the time in early high school, they were still inextricably aligned, finding the same things funny, sad, and beautiful. Loving the same music and movies.

They haven't had any serious arguments in years. And all the ones they had before were built on lies. Loki twisting Thor's words. Deliberately misinterpreting him. Making Thor feel guilty for things he hadn't done to punish him for what he had done.

Thor was something bordering on infamous in high school. And again in college, but he and Loki went to different universities, so Loki was spared an encore of the ache it put inside him the first time around. Thor never had steady girlfriends or boyfriends, but he had had more sex than most people have in their lifetimes by the time he had his high school diploma. There were always angry rants in bic pen on the back doors of bathroom stalls, usually rhyming Thor and whore. Loki found the scrawls intolerable: for their stupidity on a technical level, and because the jealousy that they represented burned in his heart, too.

They both took college seriously and worked as many hours as they could to keep money coming into their bank accounts.

They both studied art.

Their father was full of moral support for Thor – pursuing metalsmithing and blacksmithing, very old art forms that had centuries of tradition behind them and yielded beautiful sturdy objects. But Loki's pursuit of computer animation - a field far more likely to lead to actual employment than Thor's medium of choice – was met with apprehension by Odin. He said Loki wouldn't be making anything you can touch. Loki said it would be seen, and pointed out that nobody touches paintings. But Odin was still wary.

“Oh, ignore him,” Frigga had said to Loki after he'd had a heated exchange with his father. “He's decided to become old. You'll be fine.”

After college they had more free time. Thor started blacksmithing in a huge old warehouse that had been converted into artist's studios. He still rents a space there and does custom gates, fences, doors, trellises, tables, and anything else his clients can come up with.

Loki writes and works on VFX. He has an apartment in an elderly woman's attic that is roughly as spacious as a box of cereal. He keeps everything important on his laptop and in his dropbox.

In middle school the other students called them He-Man and Skeletor. Thor was tall, husky, and blond. Loki was pale, shadowed, and always rail thin, hair falling like a cowl around his face. He never cared about food. Never snacked. Meals only occurred to him when his mother called his name and announced that it was time to eat one. Thor had to push him through the lunch line in the cafeteria, sliding two trays down the track, piling food onto them, nudging his brother along ahead of him. Loki was always face-down in a book.

These days Thor worries about him. Frigga isn't here to tell Loki it's time for dinner. Thor isn't there to make him eat lunch. Loki has a standing invitation to eat at Thor's every night, because Thor likes to keep his brother fed (and, therefore, indirectly, breathing). Loki takes Thor up on it a couple times a week. He doesn't have a kitchen of his own and feels weird using his landlady's even though she said it was fine. He hates cooking anyway. It never turns out the way he wants and there's always a mess.

Thor never mentions his body, his brother's body, or anybody else's body in much detail. He was a bit chubby when he was little, and the taunts stuck with him, so he is careful never to say things that might wound people. He doesn't want to reduce them to a piece of meat the way his classmates had done to him. Thor doesn't like seeing magazines picking human bodies apart in the checkout line at the grocery store. Doesn't like like being weighed or measured. He still struggles with it when people approach him based on his looks. It's the other side of the coin. Every bit as shallow as the taunts whispered behind his back in the halls and on the bus when he was a kid.

When Loki was little he was told that he was gross and looked like a corpse due to his pallor and slight frame. Loki used his skill with words and observation to reduce those who had wounded him to tears and anger. His mouth got his nose bloodied more than once, but it was always worth it in the end, because Thor would step in and clobber anyone who laid a hand on his brother.

Eventually everyone realized that they'd regret any injury they dealt to Loki and they left off. Loki noticed and doubled his efforts. Tripled them. But everyone liked or feared Thor enough that they weren't willing to risk it, so Loki made enemies of almost everyone in school and his words went unpunished.

In college he pissed everyone off, too, but in a slightly more professional way. He could argue any point successfully, and always took a contrary stance, even (or especially) if it directly opposed another point he had made. He ran circles around everyone with his words and no one ever knew where he really stood.

When they leave the bar, Thor drives Loki home. Thor had one beer. Loki had four gin and tonics and didn't eat dinner. Thor walks him up the rickety outdoor stairs to his apartment and manages the keys for him, listening after the door shuts to make sure Loki locks it behind him.

Loki flops down on his bed and writes an outline.

When it's still there in the morning he knows he wasn't dreaming the night before. He looks it over and makes some adjustments, filling in the blanks for June and July.

  1. March
  2. Take him up on dinner more often.
  3. St. Patrick's Day. Drink with him.
  4. Make him dinner (carry out or delivery, more likely).
  5. April
  6. Find something harmless to do beyond dinner (movies, walking, concerts, etc.)
  7. Be affectionate. Test the waters.



III. May

  1. Be more affectionate.
  2. June
  3. Panic.
  4. July
  5. Controlled panic.
  6. August
  7. He has to know by the halfway point at the latest. Still time to fix a bad reaction.


    1. Blurt it out?
    2. Write him a letter? He couldn't interrupt. Once it's in the mail it's out of my hands.
    3. Just kiss him?


  1. Telling him sooner would be better. More time to remedy potential disaster.



Do it now (March)?

VII. September

  1. If amenable, pursue with extreme caution.
  2. If mortified, mend.



VIII. October

  1. He likes orchards. Take him to one.
  2. Scary movies.
  3. Rainy and colder. Give him a reason to stay inside.
  4. November
  5. Need to be on very firm ground to weather the shitstorm of Thanksgiving and Christmas.
  6. Best case scenario, the holidays intensify his affections.
  7. Worst case, he tells mom and dad and no one ever speaks to me again.
  8. Shit shit shitty shit shit shit.
  9. December
  10. Christmas. Jesus. What the fuck am I going to do?
  11. January
  12. Clean slate.
  13. Drinking holiday.
  14. Apologize or fuck his brains out.



XII. February

  1. Valentine's Day. Absurd.



It's March third. This will be tricky. Loki wishes it was December third. Christmas would soon be over with. He could give Thor something thoughtful without it seeming out of place. As it stands now, the holiday will be rearing its awkward and volatile head when Loki is in the home stretch. An unwelcome reminder of family and wholesomeness just when Loki least needs it. He sighs.

It's Sunday.

No time like the present.

He goes over to Thor's for dinner.

He fucks it up instantly.

This opens up all his old wounds. Exposes his insecurities. His weaknesses.

He has never even kissed anyone. He's only ever loved his brother, and if he couldn't have Thor then there was no point. He wants sex with Thor, not just sex itself. The two can't be severed in his heart.

“Are you still fucking everything that breathes?” Loki asks, as they're dumping curry all over their rice.

“I've expanded to include the deceased and other inanimate objects,” Thor deadpans.

“Is that more or less sanitary than living things?”

“Depends,” Thor says.

“How many STIs do you have?”

“How is that any of your business?”

“So, all of them, then?”

Thor sighs.

“Tell me.”

“Do you want to compare battle scars?” Thor asks.

And Thor means no harm. His brother is beautiful and brilliant. He has always assumed Loki has kept his love life to himself, not that it's nonexistent. So he doesn't understand when Loki's face goes cold and he sits back from the table.

“What?” Thor asks. “I have to show you mine, but you won't show me yours?”

“You know I don't have any.”

“Well, I know now, since you just told me. Condoms are awesome.”

“Condoms are awful. I won't touch them.”

“Loki,” Thor shouts. “Jesus Christ. It's suicide. You can't have sex without condoms. There's no excu-”

“I didn't say I had. And, yes, you can.”

Thor sits and stares at his brother and can't quite believe it.

“Don't look at me like I'm some kind of freak.”

“I'm not.”

“And don't pity me, either.”

“I didn't say anything.”

“You didn't have to,” Loki spits. “You look like you're watching someone kick a puppy.”

Thor sighs and rolls his eyes. Loki glares at his dinner.

“I've made it through unscathed so far,” Thor says, and it's a peace offering.

Loki nods. And he thinks he should have known. Thor never gets sick. And he loves science. Of course he always uses condoms. He can probably roll one onto a cock with his eyes closed.

Thor starts stealing food off of Loki's plate, a surefire way to get Loki to eat it. Loki falls for it, smacking Thor's fork away with his own and shoveling a hunk of cheese into his mouth.

“What's this one called again?” Thor asks.

“Paneer Lababdar,” Loki says, around a mouthful of the stuff.

“It's insane.”

“It's my favorite.”

“I can see why,” Thor admits, jabbing some more with his fork before Loki can stop him.

Loki kicks him under the table and calls him a fucker.

 

Tuesday night he's back at Thor's, trying not to think about all the ass Thor got in college and, therefore, finding himself unable to think about anything else.

“Isn't it worthless now?” Loki asks.

“Isn't what worthless?”

“Your dick,” Loki clarifies. “Supply and demand. Everyone's had a ride. You're the town bicycle. Has it retained any value?”

Thor isn't expecting this.

He's had the bicycle comment leveled at him before, but he's never heard anything like this from his brother. He thought Loki was on his side here. But now that he knows Loki has no experience, he can see why Loki wouldn't understand, which takes the sting out. A little.

“You write with same twenty-six letters every English speaker uses,” Thor says. “Does it make your words mean less?”

“I'm putting them into new combinations,” Loki shoots back.

“I'm putting myself into new combinations,” Thor counters. “I don't have the same sex with one person that I did with another.”

“Why haven't you kept any of them?”

“I never meant to. People aren't possessions. And I knew, going into it, that they weren't the one,” Thor shrugs, and Loki barks a laugh.

“How can you have sex with the many and still believe in the one?”

“I've always believed in the one. Sex isn't a synonym for 'relationship.'”

“Do you think the one will buy that?” Loki asks. “Or will you not mention the many to her?”

“If they ask, I'll tell them. I'm not obliged to, though. My life is my own.”

“Do you even know the number? Did you ever know their names?”

“Yes. To both. I still know all their names.”

Loki raises his eyebrows at this.

“Let's have them.”

Thor takes a swig of beer and a deep breath and begins.

Loki counts in his head, splitting the tally for the sexes. In high school there are more girls, but the boys catch up in college. Some of the names are unisex and he can't be certain where to put them, but he doesn't want to interrupt with a question to clarify.

One hundred and twenty-four. Fifty-two girls, give or take the few names that could go either way.

Loki sits wide-eyed and dumbstruck. The tally is five times worse than he had feared it would be.

Thor was far more discreet in high school than Loki gave him credit for. He never even suspected half of the pairings.

“What's your definition of sex?” Loki asks.

“Everything is sex. Kissing can be sex. If you're hot, and they're with you, and they're hot too, then it counts.”

Loki nods and smiles. He likes that. Because it means he's on the list, too.

They were teenagers. They'd gone camping in Maine with their parents. They had their own tiny tent. By the end of the second week they were going out of their skin.

Loki climbed into their little green bubble to turn in for the night and saw Thor, propping up his bedding with his erection, hands over his face. Loki snorted and slithered into his own sleeping bag.

“Just grab some Kleenex and rub one out,” Loki whispered.

“I don't want to scar you for life,” Thor sighed, and Loki huffed a little laugh.

“I'll be doing it, too. I had to tuck it under the band of my underwear to hold it down for half the day.”

And then it was Thor's turn to laugh.

Thor rifled through their things to find some tissues and baby wipes, tossed a couple to Loki, and they had settled in to work. But then they froze up, not sure when or where to start, until Thor whispered, “I'll race you. On three.” And they'd counted “One, two, three,”  together, and then they were off, spitting in their hands and thrusting them under the blankets. They could hear each other breathing. Hear the sleeping bags shifting, and then quiet gasps and swearing. They'd cleaned themselves up, tossed their messes in their little trash bag, clicked off the flashlight that was hanging from the ceiling, and very nearly dropped dead when their heads hit the pillows. Still, it was the high point of Loki's erotic existence. Thor going to pieces beside him in their little dome of wire and nylon.

Loki shakes himself from his reverie.

“You've never slept with Sif,” Loki says, unable to hide his surprise.

“She's my best friend.”

“Is she the one?”

“No,” Thor murmurs. “I wish she was, but... No.”

Loki nods. He's still reeling inside.

He thanks Thor for dinner, steals a book from his shelf, and shows himself out.

He can't sleep that night. He can't make sense of his brother's heart.

He's back for dinner on Thursday. He shows up with pizza, unannounced, using the spare key he holds onto in case Thor has an emergency or locks himself out. Thor's just out of the shower, standing naked in the kitchen with a towel around his neck to catch the drips from his hair, drinking iced tea, head thrown back.

He looks like the Roman sculptures of gods.

There's a drop of water cruising down the back of his forearm. Loki's eyes follow it to the floor after it falls from Thor's elbow.

“Did you put anything weird on it?” Thor asks.

“No, I restrained myself. It's just a deep dish pepperoni.”

“Oh fuck, I love you,” Thor groans, pecking Loki on the cheek before disappearing into his room and coming out wearing what Loki considers a lamentable quantity of clothing.

They dig into their dinner with happy moans and talk about their days.

Thor was forging, which Loki already knew, because Thor always takes a shower immediately afterward.

Loki was putting snow into a chase scene.

“Had much time to write?” Thor asks.

“I still make myself do it every day. Don't get to sleep until I've done my homework. Even if it's shit, at least it's practice. There's usually something in there I can use later. Refine.”

“What do you write?”

“Anything. If I'm lazy it's stream of consciousness. Sometimes it's just a record of something I saw during the day that struck me. Or a dream I had the night before. I try not to discriminate. If I'm feeling ambitious I'll play dictionary roulette and make myself write a poem with the word I land on. Or about it.”

Thor hums.

“Did you love them all?” Loki asks.

Thor doesn't have to request clarification. It's the conversation they've been having all week. He thinks for a minute, but not about the answer to Loki's question. That's easy. He ponders his brother. He knows Loki has few friends. Not many can take his capriciousness. There probably isn't anyone else Loki can talk to about this subject without feeling too exposed. It makes Thor ache for him.

“Yes,” Thor says, and Loki goes still.

His face turns red. His eyes look shiny. Thor gets worried.

“There won't be anything left of you,” Loki whispers.

“That's not how it works,” Thor says. “It's not like a piece of dead wood where you burn it and it's gone. It's like a cell dividing or a seed being planted – growing and green and alive. It's a renewable resource.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I've lived it.”

Loki still looks strange. Thor sees him casting glances at the door.

“I loved them, bu-”

“Don't,” Loki begs, holding up his hand and turning his head away.

Thor doesn't understand why Loki asked a question he didn't want the answer to. Then he realizes Loki was hoping for a different answer.

“It's not the same as being in love,” Thor offers. “They were easy to love because I saw them at their best. That's what I like about one night stands. Everyone is full of patience and optimism and enthusiasm. And I do talk to them first. To find out if they're assholes. I don't bother with people who can't be bothered to have a conversation.”

Loki takes another bite of his pizza and stops eying the door. They eat in silence for a few minutes.

“What are you doing for St. Patrick's Day?” Loki asks.

“Volstagg's barbequing. Wanna come?”

“Should I bring something?”

“No,” Thor says. “He already told me he'll have too much food. Do you want to drink or drive?”

“I'll drive.”

Loki goes home and does the writing he's been putting off all day.

And he still doesn't understand how Thor's heart works. It's like they're different species.

Loki's pulse beats Thor Thor Thor, but what courses through his brother's veins, he can't imagine.

Perhaps it's yes yes yes. Or more more more. Or maybe it's merely joy joy joy.

Thor sits at his kitchen table, stretching his arms and fingers carefully after the strain of forging all day.  Picking at the last piece of pizza until it's gone. Thinking.

He wonders why Loki is so worried about him.

And he's worried about Loki.

Sex is a necessity. It's as essential as food, warmth, and shelter in Thor's book. He would have gone out of his mind by now without it. The pleasure of it. The way it's always different and always familiar. The way it's like a game or a dance or a conversation. Sometimes it's a battle. Sometimes it's just an elaborate hug. The affection alone is enough to make Thor's toes curl.

And Jesus, Thor thinks, When was the last time Loki had affection on a regular basis?

Not since we were little, he decides.

Their mom is very demonstrative.

Thor tries to remember whether he touched his brother today.

I kissed him, Thor realizes, pleased. That was good. I should hug him more. Every time I see him. He'll probably think it's weird.

Thor shrugs.

Worth a shot. He needs it. Stubborn little shithead.

On St. Patrick's day, Loki's studio lets them all go early.

Artists like to drink.

Loki picks Thor up in his ancient Honda. Their grandma sold it to him for the money he had in his pocket the day they went to the DMV. Nine dollars and thirty-six cents. Loki babies it, because he loves road trips, and he's been on so many with this stupid car he knows he's going to cry when it finally dies, so he's trying to ensure that day is as far in the future as he can make it. It's a ticket to anywhere. An easy out. An escape. The right pocket in every pair of pants he owns is stretched and worn thin from the rub of the keys. He can fit all of his necessary possessions in his car. A wall mounted desk and a small stool are his only solid pieces of furniture. He sleeps on two folding foam mattresses that he stacks. He likes that he has no roots to ground him. That he can leave any time.

Loki gets to have a few cocktails at the beginning of the night so the alcohol will be out of his system by the time they have to leave. He's on his best behavior. He wants Thor to be happy with him, so he doesn't snipe at Sif. He chats with Volstagg about cooking, thinking he might try his hand at it again one of these days. Make Thor a proper dinner. He asks about idiot-proof recipes and taps them into his phone as Volstagg describes the dishes.

Thor drinks a ludicrous amount of beer.

They all end up around a bonfire, making weird boasts and confessions about themselves.

“I can eat whatever I want and never gain an ounce,” Volstagg says, and they all laugh.

“One of your grandmothers goosed me in a supermarket when I was eighteen,” Fandral says, and Sif groans and apologizes, because she knows it was hers.

“It was the closest I've ever come to a Harold and Maude moment,” Fandral admits.

“Thank God,” everyone answers.

“I had a crush on Wolverine when I was little,” Sif says.

“Me too,” Thor says, nodding.

“I've always found the Coppertone ads with the little girl super creepy,” Loki says.

“Ew, yeah. The pin-up pose and scenario,” Sif agrees. “Bleh.”

“I was really talkative when I was little,” Hogun says, and all eyes turn to him.

“Why did you stop?” Loki asks.

“I don't remember. My mom said it happened in first grade, but she never knew why either.”

They all hum.

Thor has more beer. Loki doesn't understand where his brother puts it and why he isn't face down in a pool of his own sick.

They say their goodnights and Thor pours himself into the passenger seat of Loki's car, fumbling with his seat belt until Loki huffs and puts it on for him.

Thor rolls his window down and leans his head on the edge of the door with his eyes closed, letting the chilly spring air blow his hair back. He's singing Vapour Trail. Loki joins in for the lalalalalas and whistles the end for him when he finishes the lyrics.

Wrangling Thor out of the car takes forever because he is sleepy and enormous. Loki has to move his legs for him and pull him to his feet. He fishes Thor's keys from his coat pocket and steers him through doorways and into the elevator, pushing the button for the third floor. Thor leans on him, warm and heavy, his arm draped over Loki's shoulder and his temple pressing against Loki's skull.

“I'm cutting off your hollow leg while you're sleeping,” Loki says.

“That's okay,” Thor smiles. “I'm a tripod.”

Loki groans and drags Thor out into the hall, leaning him on the door frame as he unlocks Thor's apartment.

Thor toes off his shoes, shimmies out of his jacket, and staggers into his kitchen to get himself some water. Loki is relieved his brother has some sense left in him, though he has no idea how such a thing is physically possible.

“Are you going to be sick later, you think?” Loki asks.

“Nope,” Thor says between gulps of water.

“Need anything?”

“Hug,” Thor says, setting down his glass and wiggling his fingers.

And Loki snorts, but lets his big drunk brother pull him in and drown him in the scents of beer, smoke, and day-old Thor.

It's lovely.

Thor's cheeks are cool from having his face hanging out the window on the ride. And he's always been a happy drunk. He just hangs onto Loki and turns slightly from side to side, swaying them both. It makes Loki think of a dog wagging its tail: a motion describing only joy.

“Mm. Can you put Nowhere on for me before you go?” Thor mumbles into Loki's hair.

“Mmmhmmm,” Loki says into Thor's shoulder, and Thor pats his back and releases him.

Loki turns on Thor's laptop, setting it to go to sleep after the album ends.

“In there,” Thor says, nodding toward his room, not trusting himself to carry his computer when he's drunk.

Loki sets it on the dresser and turns down the bed while Seagull plays quietly. Thor goes off to the bathroom to pee so loudly, and for so long, that Loki starts laughing halfway through and is still giggling when Thor finally comes out.

Thor tosses himself onto the mattress.

“Take your pants off at least,” Loki scolds, “You'll hate yourself in the morning if you sleep in jeans.”

Thor grunts and struggles out of them, kicking them to the floor.

“Text me tomorrow to tell me you're not dead,” Loki says, leaning over and kissing Thor's cheek.

“G'night,” Thor mumbles. “Love you.”

“Goodnight. Love you,” Loki answers, and locks Thor's door behind him before he goes home.

It's a tradition somewhere, Loki thinks, but he can't remember where. Surely it's not just us.

They don't like to let “goodbye” be the last word they say to each other. If they say something when they part ways, it's, “See you later,” or “I love you,” or “Sweet dreams.” Something they won't regret, because you never know.

Loki is in a rare mood the next day. He strides into work doing a lovely rendition of Good Morning, from Singin' in the Rain, just to piss on everyone's hangover and get it stuck in their heads for the rest of the day.

At eleven thirty Thor texts him, “I'm not dead. Let's have dinner,” and Loki laughs out loud at the reference, startling his drowsy cubicle-mates from their collective stupor. Loki texts back asking if he can bring anything. “Ice cream,” is Thor's response.

Loki picks up Moose Tracks on his way to Thor's and finds his brother out on his balcony grilling chicken breasts to put on top of salads. Loki stuffs the ice cream into the freezer, pops the cap off of a beer and walks out to supervise Thor.

Thor tosses an arm around him and gives him a squeeze.

“That was a Christian side-hug,” Loki says.

“Oh fuck, it totally was,” Thor laughs, and pivots to stand in front of Loki, grabbing him under the arms, scooping him up, giving him a big wet smacking muah of a kiss on the cheek, and setting him back down. Thor returns to his chicken breasts and Loki hides his smile behind his beer.

They eat ice cream while they watch Drive. The first gunshot startles them and they both jump, even though they've seen it before.

Loki can't decide what to do with himself.

I can't just throw my arm around him... can I? Or lay my head on his shoulder? Can't hold his hand or touch his knee. Where the fuck do I start?

But then Thor solves the problem for him, draping a heavy arm over the back of Loki's neck, leaving his hand dangling at the lower right edge of Loki's vision, looking like something Géricault painted.

Thor hasn't forgotten his resolution to see to it that Loki gets regular doses of affection.

And Loki lets himself melt into Thor's right side. The warmth and darkness soon make him sleepy, and his head sags of its own accord.

The movie is almost over when he wakes, but he doesn't feel like he missed anything.

“He's gonna die,” Thor murmurs, and he's half asking.

“In that car, by the side of the road, with no name and no one to mourn him. I've always thought so,” Loki says.

“It's basically Shane, isn't it?” Thor asks, and Loki nods.

“Have you seen Valhalla Rising?” Loki asks.

“No.”

“Then we're watching that next.”

“Watching it, or sleeping through it?” Thor teases, and Loki pinches Thor's side.

They stand up and stretch and Loki decides to attempt the idea that the movie inspired just before he nodded off.

He needs a soundtrack.

He wanders over to fiddle with Thor's stereo.

No time like the present, he tells himself, and turns it up just loud enough that a conversation would be slightly awkward.

He dances his way toward Thor to tune of Crimson and Clover.

Thor grins and joins him.

When they were kids Thor was far more reluctant, preferring to play outside, while Loki would dance in front of the TV with Fred Astaire, Ginger Rogers, Donald O'Connor, and Gene Kelly all morning. But on rainy days Thor would join him, and when they were teenagers he actually started to like dancing, just not so formally.

These days Thor loves watching Loki dance. His rhythm and balance are enviable, and his flexibility is almost indecent. Thor wants to give him seven veils for Christmas.

Loki likes to watch Thor eat. To watch his lips move around his fork. To see him lick things clean. They had ribs last night at Volstagg's, and everyone ate them with their fingers. Loki would have given anything to trade places with those ungrateful bones. Thor was alternately nipping the flesh off in dainty bites or sticking the whole thing in his mouth and stripping the meat as he pulled it out. And watching him separate the ribs with his fingers was pleasant, too.

Thor's fingers are a secret everyone sees and few people know. They're the only evidence of the string bean his brother was in late high school and early college, when his bones were growing. Thor went from a buxom boy to a waifish man in what felt like a matter of minutes. He started playing rugby and lifting weights, and eventually blacksmithing, and his body finally filled in, but his hands remained the same: fingers long, slender, and strangely delicate. Even his thumbs are beautiful, and that hardly ever happens. When Thor sucked barbeque sauce from them, Loki blushed.

They spin and sway through the living room and end up doing a tango in slow motion. Thor dips his brother at the end and watches Loki's spine arch backward until his hair brushes the floor, throat stretched out like a sacrifice, made to look even longer by the v-neck of his faded grey t-shirt.

They stand and straighten their clothes and Loki sighs.

“I have to go write my words.”

“It's supposed to rain tomorrow. Wanna come over and watch the movie?”

“Sure,” Loki smiles, and Thor walks him to the door, hand not quite hovering between Loki's shoulder blades.

“Goodnight,” Loki says.

“Sleep tight,” Thor smiles.

Loki still isn't sure what to think. It's hard to read Thor in this. Thor is only ever Thor. His shape is burned into Loki's retinas, and Loki is slightly blind to him. Because he already knows Thor loves him. Thor would likely give him all the hugs and kisses he asked for.

Could I ask him for this? Loki wonders.

He thinks he'd lose his voice.

The next night Thor sees Loki leaning forward and scratching his back as they watch the movie. He reaches to bat Loki's hand away and do it for him. Loki hums and doesn't move.

“Better?” Thor grunts.

“Two o'clock,” Loki answers, and Thor reaches to scratch the corresponding spot.

“Hair to the left.”

Thor obliges.

Loki groans.

Loki keeps giving instructions until Thor realizes his brother wants his whole back scratched and starts working his way from side to side in slowly descending rows, and then ascending, over and over. Loki's head is hanging from his neck and he's missed the movie again. Thor is smiling at the credits.

“Remember when we were little and Mom would sit in the low chair in the living room, give us each a brush, and have us do her hair?” Loki asks, picking his head up slightly.

“Mmmhmm.”

“I always though it was to keep us quiet. But I was wrong. It was this.”

Thor hums and keeps scratching. Loki's head falls again.

“Are you okay to drive home?” Thor teases. “Or should I just flush you down the toilet like a dead fish?”

Loki snorts and sighs, finally sitting up. Thor gives his back one last pat and they heave themselves off of the couch. Loki opens the door to the balcony to let the sound and scent of the rain come back in. His hair starts twisting into waves with the humidity.

“A psychic one-eyed Norse warrior who sacrifices himself, eh?” Thor says, walking up beside him.

“It speaks to me,” Loki smirks.

“Mads Mikkelsen speaks to you,” Thor teases.

“He doesn't speak, he screams,” Loki moans. “If sex had a face, it would be his.”

They see lightning in the distance and count the seconds in their heads until they hear the thunder, then divide by five.

“Two miles away,” Loki says.

“It's at your house,” Thor notes, and Loki laughs softly.

“Your hair is...” Thor trails off, fingering the ends of Loki's curls.

“Hopeless,” Loki finishes.

“I was going to say dancing.”

“Mmm.”

And Loki takes a deep breath and spins on his heel, looping his arms around Thor's waist and resting his head on his shoulder. He smiles when he feels Thor's arms come up behind him, hands rubbing his back.

“We need to find you a boyfriend,” Thor says, and feels Loki shaking his head no against his shoulder. “Why not?” Thor whispers.

“Who could compare?” Loki says.

“To whom?”

“My ideal.”

“Are you holding everyone up to the standard of Daniel Craig?”

“Just about,” Loki laughs.

“Pierce Brosnan?”

“Colder.”

“If it's Connery I'll vomit.”

“Ew. Colder,” Loki laughs, feigning a shudder against Thor's chest.

“Hmmm... The blond Bond,” Thor murmurs.

“Warmer,” Loki purrs.

“Aaron Eckhart?”

Loki shakes his head no.

“Brad Pitt?”

Another no.

“Paul Bettany?”

“Very nice, but no.”

“Young Robert Redford?”

“Nope.”

“Oh! Armie Hammer.”

“Ooooo, that's a good one, but no. You'll never guess it. Give up,” Loki taunts.

Thor frowns and keeps at it for the rest of the week.

Ryan Gosling? he texts.

No, but I so would, Loki fires back.

“Jude Law?” Thor asks at dinner a day later.

“No.”

“Young Cary Elwes?”

Another shake of Loki's head.

“Chris Pine?”

“Nice mouth. Eyes, too. But still way off.”

“O'Toole in Lawrence of Arabia?”

“No.”

“Got it!” Thor shouts. “Liam Neeson.”

“Oooooo. He's enormous. No.”

“Goddammit. I'm all out of options. There aren't too many burly blonds in the movies, are there?”

“Who said he was in the movies?” Loki asks.

And now Thor really is stumped.

There are no men of Daniel Craig's ilk in the music industry.

“The Barista down at Green Bean?” Thor says, grasping at straws.

“Pffff. Give up.”

“What's he like?”

“Gorgeous.”

“You give the shittiest hints,” Thor sighs. “Is he a real person?”

“Of course he's a real person. He's not Fitzwilliam fucking Darcy.”

“Is he famous at all?”

“No.”

“Oh, come on. This is impossible,” Thor groans. “I'm gonna read the phone book at you. What does he do?”

“That would give it away.”

“Gimme a hint.”

“What do I get in return?” Loki asks. “Who's your ideal? How did you know all those people weren't the one? Have you already met her?”

“I'll scratch your back,” Thor offers.

“Deal,” Loki says instantly.

Thor motions Loki to lie down on the couch. Loki dives onto it with a bouncy belly flop. Thor pulls up a chair for himself and leans over like his brother is a piano.

Can't see as many of his ribs through his shirt, Thor notes, and it makes him happy. They've been eating together more.

“Anywhere in particular?”

“Twelve o'clock.”

Thor scratches the base of Loki's neck and the hollow between his shoulder blades for a minute.

“Your turn.”

“I can't stop thinking about him,” Loki sighs.

“That's not a hint.”

“Three o'clock.”

Thor huffs, but he scratches the ribs on Loki's right side. When Loki says nothing, Thor digs a finger into his waist.

“He has the most beautiful hands I've ever seen... six o'clock.”

Loki can practically hear Thor rolling his eyes, and it makes him grin.

“His eyes are blue.”

Thor shifts his hands to scratch at nine o'clock.

“He's tall.”

Thor scratches the center.

“He's a bit older than I am.”

Thor raises his other hand and scratches seven and eleven at the same time.

“If I told him I'm in love with him I don't know if he'd ever speak to me again.”

Thor resumes his pattern from the other day, scratching in a grid.

“And, even if he was still willing to talk to me afterward, I don't know if I'd be able to look him in the eye.”

Thor scratches the strip of exposed skin between the waistband of Loki's boxer briefs and the edge of his t-shirt.

“He smells wonderful,” Loki murmurs. “Even at the end of a long hot day when everyone else smells like feet, and ass, and armpits, he smells like fresh bread and spring rain.”

Thor holds the bottom of Loki's shirt up with his right hand and scratches the skin under it with his left.

“But even if he did have an interest in me, I wouldn't know what to do with him. And it'd still be a mess for a thousand other reasons.”

“Is he gay?”

“Bi.”

“Would it be worth it?” Thor asks.

“Yeah.”

“Sex is like dancing,” Thor soothes. “You'll be a natural.”

“Mmmm.”

Thor scratches Loki's spine and Loki hums, so Thor stays there, running his nails up and down the row of bones, knuckles pushing up through thin jersey. Loki's breathing slows and his body sags into the cushions. Thor tries not to jostle him. Loki looks relaxed in a way Thor hardly ever sees anymore.

“Do you talk to him?” Thor asks softly.

“Yeah,” Loki murmurs, and his mouth doesn't close after the word.

“Have stuff in common?” Thor whispers.

“Mmmhmmm.”

“Does he make you laugh?”

“Mmmm.”

“Is he smart?”

“Mmmhmm.”

“Then he'll want you,” Thor breathes. “Tell him.”

“I don't want to lose you.”

It takes longer than it should.

They've been lulled by the warmth of skin and the buzz of their voices. Loki is more than half asleep, and Thor is adrift in the patterns his nails are leaving on the small of Loki's back.

But then Thor's hand slows and Loki's breath stops dead in his lungs.

The couch almost flips when Loki launches himself over the back of it and shoots through the door.

Thor sits, stunned, for a moment and then shakes himself and bolts out after his brother, seeing the elevator doors closing when he nears the end of the hall. He runs back around to the stairs and sprints down them, jumping the last four on every flight and whipping himself around the corners with the railings. He crashes out into the lobby and sees some neighbors, so he smiles and nods and walks as swiftly as he can to the elevator doors.

Loki looks at the carpet when he finds Thor's face waiting for him on the ground floor, but there are people in the lobby, so they can't make a scene. He steps out and around his brother and walks toward the front door. Thor is on his heels the whole time. As soon as they're in the parking lot Loki feels fingers closing around the inside of his left elbow.

“You can't drive right now,” Thor says.

“Then I'll walk.”

“Loki-”

“I'll walk,” Loki yelps, shrugging Thor's fingers from his arm.

It's dusk. The streetlights are beginning to buzz to life above the sidewalk, flickering with warm pink light that matches the clouds at this hour. It's pleasant for early spring, but it's chilly. The ground is still frozen.

Loki makes it a dozen yards before Thor sprints up behind him and grabs him again.

“You're not wearing any shoes.”

“Fuck,” Loki sighs, and a broken little laugh slips from his lips.

“Come on,” Thor says, tugging gently, and when Loki looks down he sees Thor's bare feet beside his own his argyle-clad toes.

They walk back in silence, take the elevator up, and pad quietly down the hall to Thor's apartment.

Loki crouches to put his pumas on.

“It's early. And it's Friday night,” Thor says, but Loki doesn't respond.

Thor squats down and stops Loki's fingers.

“Just wait here. Please? Stay with me, okay?”

Loki shakes his head no, not trusting his voice.

Because there are no words that can unspeak what he has said. He has just upset the axis of his existence. If he's lucky, he can adapt to its new rotation, but there's no strength in this world that can right it now. He wonders if he's undone the seasons. If the sun won't fully set and he'll never escape his shadow. If the night and day will be equals. If it will be cold forever. Or hot.

And he can't bear to look at Thor's face.

He's terrified of what he might find.

Disgust.

Pity.

Fear.

Hate.

Or not find.

Affection.

Joy.

Love.

His brother.

He stands and turns toward the door and Thor's hands come up to grip his shoulders. He can feel his brother's breath on the back of his neck.

“You don't have to go,” Thor says. “But I get it if you'd rather be alone. Just drive safe, okay? And promise you'll text me when you get home.”

Loki nods.

Thor squeezes his shoulders.

“G'night,” Thor says. “Love you.”

And Loki nods his head rapidly as he opens the door.

He puts all of his attention into the mundane motions of driving. Checks his blind spots constantly. Checks and double-checks cross traffic. Drives at exactly the speed limit.

When he's inside his apartment he texts Home to Thor. Then he goes to pieces in the shower. He wants to kill Eitri for setting this goal in front of him. Starting him on this path. He hates himself for falling for it. For letting Thor's warmth and tenderness lull him into a false sense of hope and security.

His throat aches with choking down tears. Afterward, he lies in bed, running through the thousand ways the rest of his life might play out and listening to the muffled roar of cars passing by outside, ferrying people to parties, movies, dates, bars, and beds.

Thor wanted to make Loki stay, but Loki looked like he was falling apart, so Thor didn't. And Thor needs time to think, too, but he would rather have had Loki safe and sound under his roof while he did it.

He thinks of risk versus reward. Of privacy. Family. Dream and reality. Cost. Consequence. Joy.

He dwells on his brother.

Celibate.

Secretive.

Starving.

Loki's text comes and Thor relaxes, but only slightly.

He paces his apartment aimlessly.

Opens the fridge and checks the cupboards four times, but doesn't eat anything.

He takes a shower and thinks about Loki's home: an empty room in a stranger's attic.

Spartan.

Ascetic.

Nomadic.

“Fuck,” Thor breathes, and then he's rapidly rinsing off, turning off the water, and scrubbing himself dry as he runs to his room.

He tugs on clothes and shoes and stuffs his wallet and the spare keys into his pockets, then runs down the stairs like a felon for the second time that day.

He curses at every stop light and squeals his tires when they finally go green.

He takes the stairs to Loki's apartment three at a time and clatters the key against the lock until it finally slots in and clicks with the turn of Thor's wrist.

The room is dark inside and Thor panics, fingers frantically searching for the light switch by the door.

He flips it on and sees Loki sitting up in bed, squinting and raising a hand to shield his eyes from the light.

“Jesus, you scared the shit out of me,” Loki breathes.

Thor groans in relief and leans against the door. Loki flops down onto his back and puts an arm over his face.

“I was afraid I'd missed you,” Thor says.

“Not yet,” Loki sighs. “Still have to give notice and get my shit together.”

“Why?” Thor asks.

“Are you fucking serious?” Loki hisses. “'Why?' Because this is not okay. This isn't going to blow over. I can't just ignore it and pretend I never said it, and neither can you.”

“We don't have to.”

“I can't even look at you.”

“Why not?” Thor asks, crossing the room and crouching to sit at the edge of Loki's bed.

“Your face will be different.”

“No it won't,” Thor soothes. “Or, if it is, then it won't be in a bad way."

Thor pulls back Loki's arm, but Loki turns his head to the wall. Thor snorts.

“Come on,” Thor coaxes, reaching to put a fingertip on Loki's chin and tipping Loki's face back toward his own.

Loki closes his eyes.

“I'll draw dicks all over your face if you don't open your fucking eyes.”

“Small price to pay.”

Thor snorts and digs his fingers into Loki's armpit and Loki jerks and laughs and swears and whimpers.

“Come on. Open 'em. Or I'll Clockwork Orange you.”

Loki huffs and opens is eyes as wide as they'll stretch at Thor.

“Better. Thank you,” Thor says. “Now put some clothes on and get in the car.”

“Why?”

“Because it's Friday night.”

“You keep saying that like it's supposed to mean something to me.”

“Do you have to work for the next two days?”

“No.”

“Then come on,” Thor says, jostling him.

“Can't we just hide in our holes and lick our wounds for a while?”

“What wounds?” Thor asks, and Loki gapes at him.

“Are you shitting me? Jesus Christ. Give me some space while I get used to this,” Loki scolds. “I just came out of the most fucked up closet imaginable.”

Thor laughs and slumps over Loki, then shakes his head no.

“You've had plenty of space,” Thor murmurs. “Too much, and for too long. Come on. We're going to my place.”

“Why?”

“Because my bed's bigger and my walls are thicker and I have furniture and a kitchen.”

Loki stares for a minute.

“Oh, I see,” Loki says coldly. “And on Monday morning I'll be on the curb with the rest of your cast-offs.”

“No,” Thor says.

“I don't want pity-sex from you. Or tutoring. This isn't a phase or a whim or a fantasy that-”

“I know!” Thor yelps. “Jesus. Will you just put some clothes on and get in the goddamned car?”

“I'll drive my own.”

“No you won't.”

“Oh fuck me,” Loki moans. “Fine. God. Let me up, then.”

Thor hops to his feet and Loki sighs and stomps over to his closet, pulling on jeans and an ancient Depeche Mode t-shirt. It was already practically transparent when he got it from an older cousin back in high school. It's held together primarily with prayers at this point, and it's Thor's favorite, by far. It's black and has all four of them on it in individual portraits arranged in a square. David Gahan looks about twelve.

Loki acts like he's ready to go and Thor rolls his eyes and rummages through Loki's closet for a hoodie and then thrusts it at his brother.

Loki shrugs it on and they crowd out onto the landing while Loki locks up.

They thump down the steps, climb into Thor's pick-up, and cruise out onto the streets.

Loki doesn't know what to say. Thor is sitting quietly beside him, smiling faintly. But Thor is often smiling for no apparent reason, so that doesn't necessarily mean anything.

Thor can see Loki playing with his fingers out of the corner of his eye. An old nervous habit.

They don't speak on the rest of the drive, or in the lobby, or the elevator. When they get into Thor's apartment they toe their shoes off and Thor gets them both glasses of ice water. Loki was hoping for something stronger, but he doesn't want to ask for liquid courage, however badly he might need it.

Thor downs his drink and then saunters into the living room. He pops in a Venture Brothers blu-ray and flops down onto the couch. Loki sits in a chair.

“What are you doing?” Thor asks, brow rumpled.

“Watching TV,” Loki says slowly, because his brother is asking stupid questions.

“C'mere,” Thor says.

“Where? You're taking up the whole couch,” Loki answers.

Thor rolls his eyes and pats his sternum and belly.

Oh, Loki thinks. Right.

He climbs on top of Thor and lowers his body down, letting his head fall over Thor's left shoulder. He can't really watch TV this way, but he's beginning to suspect that might not be the point. He feels his body rise and fall with each of Thor's breaths, and then Thor's hands come up and Loki's back is cool where his brother has lifted his shirt. Loki heaves himself up so Thor can raise it further, bunching it up under Loki's armpits. When Loki sags back down onto Thor, Thor's fingertips skate over his bare skin, tickling lightly. And then they shift and Loki feels the drag of nails. They stay that way for an hour, and by the end of it Loki is pliant and relaxed.

Thor smooths Loki's skin with the palms of his hands and Loki sighs against his neck before clambering off to go use the bathroom.

Loki stares at his own face in the mirror while he washes his hands. He looks a bit undone. Not as confident as he'd like. He makes himself take ten deep breaths.

When he comes back out, the living room is dark, but Thor's bedroom light is on.

“Need anything?” Thor asks.

“No, I'm fine,” Loki says, leaning against the door frame.

“Come on,” Thor says, tossing his head toward the mattress. “You look tired.”

Loki wants to punch his own stupid face for being so transparent, but it's hard to stay angry – or focused – when Thor's shirt is already gone and he's tugging off his jeans and underwear and tossing them across the room. They land in the hamper with a soft flap. Thor turns down the bed and climbs in.

Thor had to get a king bed. He's too big for anything else, and he still sleeps diagonally on it most nights to make it feel bigger. But right now he's curled on his side, watching Loki.

Loki folds his clothes as he removes them and sets them in a tidy stack on top of Thor's dresser. His body is slim, but not delicate. Thor wonders where the line between those things lies.

Loki hasn't slept on a real mattress in years. Thor's is nice. It has a thick pillow-top. The sheets are grey flannel and new enough that they haven't yet lost their fluffy nap. And they smell like Thor. Loki can't help smiling as he tucks himself in, tugging the blankets up to his armpits.

He turns his head and looks at Thor, and finds him warm, naked, watching, and waiting only inches away.

Loki rolls toward his brother and wonders where to begin.

He opts to roll back over quickly and turn his head to sneeze off the edge of the bed.

Thor is grinning when Loki turns around again.

“What?” Loki asks.

“Your sneezes are so quiet. It's cute. Most men have awful screaming sneezes that scare the shit out of everyone in a five mile radius.”

Loki narrows his eyes at him.

“What?” Thor says.

Loki sniffs, rolls his eyes, and lets his grin spread back over his face.

Thor shuffles closer and reaches to push Loki's hair back behind his ear and when he's finished he runs his hand down the back of Loki's skull and lets his fingers come to rest over the bones of the neck. Loki can feel Thor's breath against his lips.

And This is it, Loki realizes.

This is the line.

Their toes are at its edge. If they say goodnight now, it remains intact, but if they keep moving, then they shatter something that has defined them all their lives.

But maybe it won't break.

Loki hopes so, but he can't be sure. Wanting someone and having them are two different things.

But something has to change, surely. Loki thinks. Can you still be brothers when you know the taste of each other's skin?

“Wo, you okay?” Thor whispers.

And to anyone else, Thor's question would sound like surprise: “Whoa, you okay?”

But it's not whoa.

It's Wo, rhyming with woe, and short for Woki, because Thor couldn't pronounce the letter L when he was little. Nor R. So their names wereThowa and Woki.

And now Loki has his answer: on the threshold of a kiss, Thor greets him with his oldest nickname and a flash of protective instinct. A press of lips can't undo a quarter of a century of fraternity.

Maybe I have it backward, Loki marvels. Maybe the barrier we're about to break wasn't keeping our brotherhood in place; maybe it was keeping it in pieces.

“Yeah,” Loki murmurs. “Just... long time coming.”

Thor nods and scoots even closer, butting their foreheads together and stacking their knees in a clumsy dovetail.

And they're just brushing the tips of their noses together, staring down their cheeks at each other's lips. Thor's hand slides around Loki's neck and under his jaw, tipping his chin up so their heads are at the right angle, and then he leans in and briefly clasps Loki's upper lip between his own.

And Loki wants to call NASA and say Thor just kissed me. Because it should matter to them. It should be documented and celebrated and studied. Because it's a marvel. Over thirteen billion years led up to it. Loki is grateful for the universe's efforts.

He leans forward and places a matching kiss on Thor's upper lip.

Thor nips Loki's lower lip. Loki returns the favor.

And Thor keeps leading him. Teaching him, the same way he showed Loki to write letters when they were little.

And then Thor tilts his head to his right, so Loki tilts his, and when Thor leans forward and presses his mouth to his brother's, his lips are parted. And it's a question - May I?  And Loki parts his lips Yes.

Thor's hand moves up to cup the back of Loki's head and he presses Loki's mouth more tightly to his own as his tongue slides in and strokes his brother's. And Loki wishes tongues were like chocolate and melted slowly with each suck. Instead they're like really flexible little cocks, and he supposes that's the next best thing.

When Thor moves his knees, their skin peels apart and then slips, and Loki realizes how warm they both are. They toss the blankets down and kick them to the bottom of the bed before scrambling closer together. When their cocks brush against each other, Loki's head tips back and he gasps and Thor grabs him around the waist and tugs him closer until their pricks are trapped between their bellies, siding over sweaty skin. They kiss again, sucking so hard on each other's lips and tongues that it often hurts, but they need it, so they like it. And then Thor can feel Loki's hips moving against him and he wants to apologize, because Loki has waited long enough. Too long.

“Here,” Thor says, marking his place with a kiss. “Hang on.”

He rolls away and leans over to pull lube and tissues from his bedside drawer and then crawls back and resumes his position. Loki watches as Thor flips the cap and runs lines of fluid along the sides of their cocks. Thor sets the bottle between them and then reaches down to spread the lube over his skin. Loki spreads his and clenches, trying not to come. Thor pours more liquid onto their bellies and hips and they rub that in, too, before wiping their hands on their thighs. Thor sets the bottle up by the headboard and pulls Loki close again, coaxing his lips apart with little kisses and warm breaths. And then Thor is sucking on Loki's tongue the way he wants to suck on Loki's cock, and Loki knows it. Loki's hips start to move again, sliding his prick over the soft skin of Thor's stomach. Thor runs his hand down Loki's back and onto his ass, giving it a squeeze and a press, grinding his hips forward. Loki is having a hard time keeping up with the kissing now; his hips are working fast and he's putting all of his effort into holding off his orgasm. Thor nips his way over the side of his brother's face, pressing a firm kiss to his cheekbone, biting the bend of his jaw, and then spreading his lips wide over Loki's neck and sucking on the delicate skin.

Loki moans long and low and Thor isn't expecting it.

“Oh fuck, Loki,” Thor gasps and grinds harder against Loki's belly, crushing Loki's hips to his own with a palm at the base of Loki's spine. And Loki lets out a quiet ah, and then he's coming and heaving hot broken breaths. When Thor feels the wet heat spilling down his belly he swears and gives one hard thrust before spurting semen onto their stomachs, eyes fixed on his brother's face. Loki's features have gone slack with lust and relief and exhaustion.

Gorgeous, Thor thinks, and surely that could do no harm.

“You're gorgeous,” Thor breathes against Loki's lips.

Loki smiles faintly and keeps panting.

Thor finally reaches over to grab the tissues he stowed and hands a few to Loki. They mop themselves up and stagger to the bathroom to wet some washcloths and clean themselves properly.

They leave the lights off and wander into the kitchen to drink ice water. Thor cracks the door to the balcony and they stand in front of it, letting the cool air soothe their skin while they stand belly to belly with their arms around each other, heads sagging onto each other's shoulders.

In Thor's room they curl up together on the dry half of the mattress, nose to nose once more.

They've shared a bed in hotels on family trips before. Side by side in a queen, their parents in the other bed next to them. But the last time they shared one of their own beds was when they were little. It was Christmas eve. Thor had come into Loki's room, taken Loki's hand, grabbed his comforter, and led him into his own room to sleep. They had wound the blankets around themselves in a ring and curled up together on Thor's mattress, under Loki's quilt. And they had whispered excitedly about Santa and what they wanted and whether they had been good or bad that past year, and they both fell asleep long before they meant to. Thor shook Loki awake in the morning and they ran out to the living room to see what was under the tree. The next night, Loki had hoped Thor would come for him again and they'd get to sleep side by side like baby birds in their little nest of blankets, but Thor never came, and Loki didn't want to have to ask for it.

Thor is excited. He hasn't spent the night beside someone since college. He only did it once. And it was wonderful, but it felt like a theft. Like he was seeing things he had no right to witness, because he knew he didn't want to be there again. That the spark he felt with the person beside him had been extinguished when they'd finished wringing the tension from each other's bodies, and this helpless fragile form beside him was giving him trust and intimacy he could never repay, hadn't sought, and didn't want.

“What?” Loki asks, seeing Thor's smile.

“I get to wake up with you,” Thor says. “I always sleep alone.”

Loki raises his eyebrows at this but says nothing.

Thor bends to pull the blankets back up the bed and tucks them around his brother and himself. They tangle their fingers together in a knot between them and sleep lightly, but contentedly, waking every once in a while and spying on each other before drifting off again.

In the morning Loki stumbles off to pee and when he comes back, Thor grabs him and winds him up in warm limbs, squeezing him until they both groan.

“You're lucky I just peed, otherwise you'd be covered in it,” Loki says, and Thor laughs and pinches his butt and Loki hums.

They're both warm and giddy and a little dopey with sleep and the mess of chemicals rushing through them from sex and affection and happiness. Thor wonders if this is what it feels like to be a kitten.

“I'm starving,” Loki admits.

“Me too,” Thor sighs. “We should eat. Maybe afterward we'll be done with morning-wood.”

Loki huffs a laugh and nods. He's gotten burned by jerking off too early in the day more times than he cares to count.

Thor makes omelets with red peppers and chevre while Loki drenches toast with butter and sprinkles cinnamon and sugar all over it.

“Did you put cream in these eggs?” Loki asks after they start eating.

“Maybe,” Thor smiles.

“I think I can hear my arteries hardening.”

“Bitch, please. You turned this bread into cake,” Thor laughs.

Loki grins.

They curl up together on the couch and watch another episode of The Venture Brothers while they digest their breakfasts. They're just wearing t-shirts and boxers. Loki borrowed some from Thor and he's swimming in them. He had to peg the waist of the underpants to keep them on his hips.

Thor has his arm around his brother and Loki has his hand on Thor's thigh, because now he knows he can. He smooths his palm over the muscles of the leg and feels the little blond hairs pressing flat beneath his hand and dragging against his skin. Loki doesn't have much leg hair. Thor has peach fuzz all over. It's nice. Loki wants to take him to the beach when it's warmer and see the little gold hairs glinting in the sun.

Thor pulls an unopened toothbrush out of a bathroom drawer and tosses it to his brother. They take a shower together, which is something they've always wanted to do. It's not as sexual as Loki thought it would be, but what it lacks in eroticism it makes up for in intimacy. Thor washes his own face and hair and then Loki diverts the spray and makes Thor stand at the back of the tub so that he can soap Thor's whole body. He takes his time about it, running his hands in slow circles and turning Thor around and around. Thor's cock is hard by the time Loki gets there. Loki has been hard the whole time. He washes Thor carefully. His own balls have always been sensitive. If he shifts his legs wrong and moves one testicle within his scrotum but not the other, he ends up with nausea spreading through his veins like venom. When he turns Thor away from him, Thor leans forward and rests his arms on the tiled wall, arching his back and offering up his ass. Loki hums and slides soapy fingers through the cleft, swirling the fleshy pads around Thor's hole and hearing Thor moan happily.

Thor gives his brother the same treatment, but Loki is much more responsive and vocal throughout.

Their erections bounce in front of them when they make their way back to Thor's bed.

Their kisses are playful and rather athletic. Loki ends up in Thor's lap with his head tilted back so that Thor can suck on his Adam's apple. His cock is leaving little damp dots on Thor's belly when it brushes the skin.

Thor can see, hear, and feel it when Loki takes a deep breath. Loki sneezes, sniffs, says excuse me, and then clears his throat.

“Do you top, or bottom, or both, or neither?” Loki asks.

“I, um... I bottom for myself. Can't top alone. Haven't done either with partners.”

“Why not?”

“It's still kind of risky. Not just because condoms break, but because you never know if someone's going to be too rough with you. And it's something I need to be pretty relaxed to do. Can't rush it.”

“So what do you do?” Loki murmurs.

“Handjobs, mostly. It's low risk and you can kiss and keep your clothes on if you have to.”

“No blowjobs?”

“Not often. Only if I really like someone. It's awfully intimate. And, again, you never know if they're going to try to fuck your face without asking.”

“What about women?” Loki asks, and Thor hums.

“In high school... I knew everyone pretty well and I was terrified of getting someone pregnant... I ate pussy like it was my job. In college everybody was on the pill and I had easy access to cheap condoms from University Health Services, so there was a lot of vaginal sex.”

Loki nods.

“What about you?” Thor asks.

“I have a lot of toys. And I like to use my fingers.”

Thor hums and then grins and tips them both over.

“What would you like to do?” Thor asks, between kisses to Loki's neck.

“What may I do?”

“I'm game for anything you want to try.”

Loki opts to bottom. He knows he'd come the second he got his cock in Thor's ass if he topped. This way he can top later, and, at least in theory, last a little longer. And he's wanted Thor inside him for a decade, which feels exactly like a decade too long.

Thor is big. But Loki has toys his size. And Loki doesn't have to do any work. He can relax. And Thor is going slowly and wearing half a bottle of lube and kissing him and caressing him and Loki is still going to come far sooner than he means to. And the stretch is hot and stinging and wonderful. And when Thor is finally seated within him they both lie still, sweating and breathing carefully. Loki's legs are around Thor's waist and his fingers are tracing Thor's ribs. They've got their foreheads pressed together and their eyes closed.

Thor takes a peek at his brother and gives him a kiss, and Loki opens his eyes and nods his head and Thor starts moving.

They're both swearing and bucking mere minutes later.

After they've washed and dozed and had lunch and marched right back into bed, Loki puts Thor on his back and slathers them both in lube. The way it feels to have Thor's skin stretching around the head of his cock has Loki gaping. It's as though he's grown a thousand new nerve endings overnight. And when he bottoms out and his balls press against the back of Thor's ass, he swears. He's going to come if he moves. So he waits and then carefully shifts his hips, slowly dragging himself back so that only the head of his cock is still inside of Thor. He comes halfway through the fifth thrust forward.

“Fuck,” Loki groans.

Thor just hums and nudges Loki's belly up so that he can reach between them. He gives his prick a few swift tugs and sprays little drops of semen all over his brother's stomach.

On Sunday, Loki is feeling a bit more brave. And what he finds comes as a surprise to him. He's spent years having anal and vaginal sex held up before him as though they are the pinnacle of sex. As though there's a hierarchy: digital, oral, vaginal/anal.

But there isn't.

It's all sex, just like Thor said.

And it's also apples and oranges.

Because when Loki finally reaches the end of his trail of kisses and presses his lips to the base of Thor's cock, he can smell Thor's sweat and skin and musk and even his anus. And now it makes sense to him that Thor didn't do this with many of his partners. The exposure is making Loki feel vulnerable on his brother's behalf.

And when he takes Thor in his mouth and tastes the salty bite of precome he feels a burst of empathy for him; Thor can't hide anything here. Loki can taste him, smell him, see him, feel him, and hear him. And when Thor's legs stiffen between Loki's own and his breath stops and his hips rise, Loki realizes he has only half-understood an orgasm all his life.

He swallows Thor's semen and then laughs.

Thor leans up on his elbows to look at him.

“What?” Thor asks.

“My head was tilted down too far when I swallowed and now your come is up in my sinuses and dripping out my nose,” Loki says.

Thor shakes with laughter beneath him.

And then it's Loki's turn. And Thor is going over him with a fine-toothed comb. Loki's fear that his body will be boring to his brother after so many other partners burns to ash and blows away. Thor wasn't kidding. Each new person is a new world to him, and Loki's body is a universe that Thor has spent a lifetime living beside. Now he gets to live in it. He's committing moles to memory. Making mental notes of Loki's every reaction. Cataloging scents and shapes and flavors.

Loki's legs are shaking faintly when Thor's face finally settles between them. The press of Thor's lips to the tip of his prick steals Loki's breath from his lungs. The drag of Thor's tongue teases a whimper out of him. The slick warmth of Thor's mouth has him cursing. And praying.

After he comes, he wishes his body could just evaporate, because he doesn't know what to do with this carcass now. It doesn't feel like he will ever recover from this. Thor has dealt him a mortal wound.

“Thank you,” Loki whispers, and Thor can't think of anything to say to that.

He climbs up the bed and pulls Loki into his arms, and when they kiss, Loki can taste himself on Thor's tongue.

A few days later, Thor eats Loki out. Loki goes rigid at the first swipe of tongue over this hole and Thor chuckles softly.

“Relax.”

Loki takes several deep breaths while Thor runs his hands up and down the backs of Loki's thighs and kneads his buttocks.

By the end of it, Loki is making the most wonderful sounds Thor has ever heard and throttling his cock like it has insulted him. His hole twitches around Thor's tongue.

Afterward, Loki stares at his brother.

“What?” Thor asks.

“What do I taste like?” Loki whispers.

“Ever put coins in your mouth?” Thor asks. “Especially pennies?”

“When I was little,” Loki admits.

“Your ass tastes like pocket change.”

Loki giggles.

The next night he goes down on Thor, and he finds his brother's assessment is entirely accurate.

There's a familiarity in this. Inevitably, one of them will make a comment or gesture that's part of their shared history; hopelessly fraternal. Bring up some old joke. Remember the source of a scar.

Loki sneezes when he's aroused. Usually just once or twice. At first Thor thinks it's the dust fibers from the sheets shifting. But after the third time it happens, Thor asks Loki if some fragrance in his soap or laundry detergent is irritating him.

“No,” Loki laughs. “It's not that. I always sneeze when I get turned on. Sometimes if I just see someone sexy, I'll sneeze.”

“You always used to sneeze when we watched The Lord of the Rings.”

“Viggo,” Loki explains.

“He's pretty much edible,” Thor agrees.

And the sneezes are so familiar. They leave a funny little cloud of scent – and saliva - in the air. It smells like drool drying on a pillow. Thor finds it strangely endearing.

“What do you want to do?” Thor asks after lunch on a Saturday.

“Frolic,” Loki says, smiling and blushing just slightly.

Loki had first heard that word at Christmas when they were little, listening to Winter Wonderland. He went to look it up and then pulled Thor over to the dictionary to see.

It sounded wonderful.

They followed Webster's instructions as best they could, twirling, leaping, and dancing through the room, tossing their arms over their heads and arching their bodies from side to side, laughing and linking arms, spinning together like a top.

And every now and then for years afterward, Loki would say, “Let's frolic,” and they'd caper and careen through the room or the yard, grinning and giggling together.

They dance to Jimmy Soul's If You Want to Be Happy, Jens Lekman's A Sweet Summer's Night on Hammer Hill, and New Order's Age of Consent.

Thor has a word, too - splendor. He got it from the cover of Frigga's Splendor in the Grass VHS when he was a boy. Thor wanted to splendor in the grass. It looked nice. Natalie Wood and Warren Beatty, young and beautiful, her head and hand on his breast. So Thor made splendor into a verb. It basically means to savor. Thor tended to apply it to sunsets and cherry blossoms and storms rolling in, and Loki approved of his appropriation of the word.

These days, Thor will go to move – to try to get up after Loki has fucked him to ruin - and Loki will push him back down with a hand splayed over his heart and say, “I'm not done splendoring you yet,” and Thor will sink back into the sheets and smile to the point of tears while Loki's eyes eat him up.

And Loki has photos for the first time in his life. He keeps them in his dropbox. He and Thor smiling side by side, their temples pressed together, looking into the lens, Loki's long arm reaching to fit them both in the photograph. Dozens of simple little shots he surreptitiously takes of his brother with his phone. Thor cooking. Thor asleep. Thor coming out of the shower. Thor dripping wet and chasing after him, laughing delete that picture right now you little shit, a blur of pink and gold.

And Loki moves in. He packs up his desk and mattresses and chair and stows them in the closet in Thor's guest room. Lets go of his empty rented attic.

He eats three meals a day, because Thor packs him a lunch. And it's stupid, but seeing the little paper sack waiting for him on the counter when he leaves in the morning makes him want to fall down and weep. And when he opens it at work it fills him with sentiment of a magnitude that seems incongruous with the objects inspiring it.

It's an apple, a stack of cookies, and a turkey sandwich, for fuck's sake. Calm down, he tells himself.

But Thor made it, his simpleton heart argues. Because he loves me. And wants me to be healthy and live a long life – an eternal one, in fact.

Loki didn't get that last bit from the lunch. Thor blurted it out when they were having sex. Thor's verbal ejaculations are nearly as frequent as his seminal ones these days.

At first he tried to rein it in, but when he finally slipped and said, “I want you to fuck me until I cry,” Loki had responded favorably, and after that Thor stopped censoring himself.

Now he almost always says something when they're in bed. Usually it's just a soft, “Oh, Loki.” Or a dozen of them. But every once in a while it's something completely insane: “Kill me like this,” or “I want to get you pregnant,” or “I want to die inside you,” or “I want to have your babies,” or “Marry me. I'm yours,” and, most recently, “You have to live forever.”

Loki hoards these treasures in his brain... and a file in his dropbox, because he's terrified he might forget one, and it would be a tragedy if any of these gems were lost.

Loki says things, too, but more randomly, and consciously, and usually veiled as complaints: “You're so handsome it's almost irritating,” “Why do you always have to smell so good? I never get anything done,” “If your arms get any bigger you'll rip your shirts. You're such a fucking beast,” and “Why are you wearing clothes on the weekend? It's just more laundry to do. Take them off.”

They get jewelry. Bracelets. Thor's is a feather and Loki's is a snake. Neither of them points out that the acquisition of these ornaments followed closely on the heels of their fuck-drunk moaning about marriage.

Loki gets Thor a tiara. Thor surprises him by wearing it.

Loki likes to play little tricks on Thor.

The occasional apple pie bed.

Running Thor's deodorant over his brush so that when he uses it it leaves white chunks in his hair.

Placing a perfect curlicue of pubic hair on the bristles of Thor's toothbrush.

Sometimes his pranks backfire.

He puts a life-sized printout of the Predator in the shower. When Thor pulls the curtain back and sees it, he lets out a roar so loud and monstrous that it scares Loki half to death where he's sitting in the kitchen. He spills his water all over his chest and squawks like a turkey. Thor comes out of the bathroom wide eyed and they both stare at each other for a few seconds before they fall to the floor laughing.

They use Loki's shoegaze catalog as a soundtrack for sex. Souvlaki emerges as the favorite. It's spacey and dreamy and soft and unobtrusive. And Loki has always wanted to hear it with Thor's hands on his skin. It feels like the songs were written for that purpose.

Sometimes they talk for hours about trivial and tiny things.

“Remember that time we tried to listen to The Sisters of Mercy?” Thor asks.

“And we ended up making horrified faces at each other and deleting all the tracks and listening to Bauhaus for the rest of the night instead,” Loki laughs, nodding, and then they go on a Bauhaus bender.

That leads to a Love and Rockets spree, which is far more amenable to fucking.

Some days they barely speak, floating silently together through some shared state of mind by unspoken agreement.

Loki put in his request for a vacation at the end of July and it was granted. They haven't decided what they're going to do, but they still have two weeks to decide. They might neglect to plan anything and spend it all in bed, and neither of them objects to that possibility.

They split a beer with dinner. Loki just want the taste. It wakes him up, but the whole bottle always leaves him more full than he likes.

They have dessert and watch a movie. Take turns shaving and showering. Thor is in a bare-faced phase because it's hot out.

They're in bed kissing and querying each other about how they'd like to be had when they see a shadow by the door and then the overhead light switches on. Thor has Loki behind him and his arms and shoulders spread protectively like a wall in front of him before anyone else can breathe.

Eitri had picked the lock while they were at work and waited in the guest room.

“What the fuck are you doing in my home?” Thor growls.

“Looking for your brother,” Eitri says, not quite as smoothly as he'd like. “He disappeared in March. I never see his car when I pass his apartment. And he never answers his phone.”

“Get out,” Loki says coldly.

“You didn't waste any time. You had a whole year.” Eitri marvels. “Didn't take much to convince him, did it? Did you cheat? Had this happened before our wager?”

“What?” Thor says.

“It seems I owe you a lot of money,” Eitri says to Loki. “How do you want it?”

And Thor is shaking his head no and then looking at Loki.

“Was this a bet?” Thor breathes.

“It doesn't change anything,” Loki whispers. “It was just-”

“So that's a yes,” Thor says, and his eyes are watering and his lips are quivering and Loki has never felt shame like this.

To hurt Thor. And to have a smarmy little shit like Eitri see his brother brought so low.

And then Thor is up on his feet and towering over Eitri.

“Run,” Thor snarls, and Eitri doesn't have to be told twice.

They hear the door close as he shows himself out.

Thor's fists and jaw keep clenching. Loki wants Thor to hit him and scream at him and punish him and stay with him.

Thor is pinioned by his desire to hurt his brother and the self-hatred that rises like bile in his throat for even considering such a thing.

Loki watches Thor's fists flexing as Thor stalks toward him.

“Do it,” Loki begs, and closes his eyes.

Thor just huffs a hot breath over his cheeks. When Loki opens his eyes his brother is gone.

Loki finds him sitting on the balcony, staring up at the stars, knees held to his chest. He's naked and silent, cheeks glistening in the dark.

“Come inside,” Loki says softly.

Thor nods and follows him in. Loki takes him to the kitchen and gets him water, then leads him to bed with his fingers gently gripping Thor's elbow.

Thor lies on his back and gapes at the ceiling, still silently weeping. Loki turns off the light and curls up against Thor's side, head on Thor's shoulder. Thor can feel Loki's tears falling onto his skin. They can hear the wet uneven breaths issuing from each other's noses.

Thor doesn't speak. He doesn't know what to say. He doesn't even know what to think. He only knows that it hurts. But his mother taught him not to make important decisions when you're upset. Not to speak when you're angry, because you'll only say things you regret. So he supposes it's for the best that words are eluding him. Perhaps it's some strange sort of self-preservation.

Loki can't speak. Because he'll say he's sorry. And he isn't. He cannot regret this. However foolish the path he took to get here might have been, it got the job done. He is with Thor.

In the morning they still don't speak.

Thor can't look at his brother. Loki can't look anywhere else.

Thor's phone rings and he peeks at it and raises his eyebrows.

“Tony,” Thor croaks, and then clears his throat. “How are you?”

Loki listens to half of a conversation.

“When?” Thor asks.

And then, “For how long?”

And finally, “No. It's fine. It's good. I'll be there.”

Thor met Tony Stark at a blacksmithing workshop he taught at Haystack Mountain School of Crafts. They talked welding and metal and form and function and stayed in the studio working long into the night. Or they went down to the bottom of the decks to stare out at the ocean and bat ideas back and forth, trading thoughts that would have seemed crazy to Thor only a week earlier.

Thor is excited. He knows they'll be doing something impossible. And that it will work. And Tony will pay him far too much money for his time and they'll laugh and drink beer and burn the candle at both ends and afterward they'll have more ideas than they know what to do with, but Tony will figure it out later and Thor will get another phone call saying, “Hey, remember that really stupid thing we did? Well we're gonna do it again. But better. Or stupider. Either way, get over here.”

Thor starts packing a suitcase and Loki can't hold his tongue.

“Are you leaving me?”

“I have to go to New York for a few weeks. Maybe a month. Maybe a little more. Tony needs a hand with something.”

And Loki notices that that wasn't a yes or a no.

“Are you going to sleep with him?” Loki whispers, and then pinches his lips shut between his teeth.

Thor sighs.

“No, Loki. He's my friend. We're going to build something. Or try to, anyway.”

“What should I do?”

“Whatever you want.”

“Can I come with you?”

“No. You have a job, remember? And I need time to think.”

“About what?” Loki breathes.

“This, sweetheart. Us.”

Loki nods and heads back to the bedroom. He curls up in the sheets and cries. A few minutes later he feels the bed dip behind him and then Thor's hand is rubbing his back. It only makes him cry harder. Thor spoons up behind him and holds him and shushes him. And Loki hates himself even more. Thor is softer and kinder than he ever imagined, and it makes the wounds Loki dealt him seem deeper and bloodier. Unfair. Unkind. Unforgivable.

Thor heads out to square things away in his studio for the rest of the afternoon.

In the evening he asks Loki to drive him to the airport.

“Three meals a day,” Thor says, before he passes through security. “Healthy ones. Not just cookies and cinnamon toast.”

Loki nods and Thor kisses his cheek.

And then Loki is alone. And all he can do is hold his breath. He made the earthquake. Now he has to wait to see if it yields soft waves or a tsunami.

He texts his brother later that night, Just tell me you're alive.

And Thor isn't cruel.

Plane landed. Safe and sound, Thor texts back, and Loki types and deletes responses until the battery on his phone dies.

Loki eats his three meals a day. Gifts for Thor.

He listens to True Romance on a near-constant loop.

He travels when his vacation rolls around. He was overdue for a road trip.

He mails his brother postcards, saying he'll be at such and such place on this date, staying at this hotel, and if you happen to be free, it would be lovely to see you. He paints the cards himself. Watercolors of things he's seen on his trip.

Sometimes Loki loses himself and it doesn't hurt so much. He tours Civil War battlefields and he can almost smell the blood in the ground. Something about these spaces gives him a sense of peace that makes no sense. And the cemeteries packed solid with seemingly endless fields of identical graves soothe his soul.

He goes to the beach early one morning and stares out at the Atlantic. The air and colors are cool and soft. He watches the sunrise. By eleven o'clock the sun is hot and the beach is a bright gold before the impossible blue of the sea and sky, and this is the world that belongs to Thor.

A young family passes by and asks if he's all right. He nods and smiles and says his sweat washed his sunblock into his eyes and they sympathize and tell him there's a drinking fountain by the changing rooms if he wants to rinse them.

Money appears in his bank account. Loki guesses Eitri must have peeked at his checkbook and copied his account number. It's over a million, and then Loki realizes that the extra is to cover the taxes. Eitri is a wretch, but he's a fair one.

He draws Thor's face from memory. Slightly walleyed. Weirdly elfin. Lupine.

He sleeps with one of Thor's oldest tee shirts on the pillow in front of his face. It's dingy and frayed and smells hopelessly of his brother. Detergent can't wash it out: soap doesn't stand a chance against the literal years the thing has spent absorbing sweat, oil, and scent from Thor's skin.

When he touches himself he talks to Thor, and when he comes he chants Thor's name, and when he curls up alone in bed he tells himself a story – a lie - because his mind needs a reason for his solitude, and the real one won't let him sleep. So, instead, it's I'm the last man on Earth, or He's in Florida visiting Mom and Dad, or He was only a dream, or He's just down the hall in the bathroom, or He'll be home in the morning.

Loki writes poetry about the mess he's made, casting himself as a each half of every famously parted pair in a series of diptychs.

He follows it with a group of poems in which he plays every hero who's ever had to go on a quest to win back his love. And he fails every test; Orpheus turning to look and losing Eurydice to Hades and Persephone, over and over.

He puts them on his blog and the poems are popular, inasmuch blogged poetry is ever popular.

Inevitably, readers post comments asking if the poems were inspired by actual events.

And he wants to tell them to fuck off.

And he wants to tell them you can win and lose the same game at the same moment.

And he wants to tell them he's in love with his brother.

And he wants to brag that his brother was in love with him, too.

And he wants to confess that he broke both of their hearts.

And he wants to fill the screen with pictures of Thor's perfect face so they can feel at least a fraction of what he lost.

And he wants to ask them what he should do about it.

But he just says yes, and leaves it at that.

Thor misses his brother the most at dinner and at night. Conversations that were half laughter. The quiet sounds of Loki's intestines bubbling. The snores he made. Usually just two or three before Loki woke up and shifted and Thor giggled and Loki asked What? Thor would tell him he was snoring. Loki would scoff I don't snore. And Thor would laugh again and then Loki would, too.

He misses the clack of keys as Loki did his writing and the pretty planes of his face glowing in front of the screen.

He misses sleeping in on the weekends and getting back in bed after brunch. He misses the sounds Loki made when they kissed. The warmth of his breath. The caramel purr of his voice.

He tries to picture a future spent apart. The future that traditionally awaits siblings of their age. Finding partners. Buying houses. Settling down. Drifting into separate lives. Squabbling over who does what for their parents. Who gets which heirloom. Becoming strangers at best or enemies at worst.

Tries to imagine who else his brother would grow to love and gets jealous. Imagines Loki sniping at them and driving them away and hates himself for the peace the thought brings him.

In late August, Thor is listening to music on a long plane ride. He and Stark are traveling to New Mexico to do some prototype testing.

Thor's mind has always remembered things with alarming detail when they've been accompanied by music.

If he listens to an album while he's working on a piece, he'll remember which line of the sketch he was drawing, which section of steel he was forging, or which joint he was welding the next time he hears that album.

First it's Austra. Then Bauhaus. After that, Beach House comes on.

Bloom.

And the memories that drift through his head startle him in both their content and their clarity.

He had come home to find Loki waiting for him with a tray of birds' nests from their favorite bakery. They'd eaten an entire row of the sticky sweets in a matter of seconds and then Loki was sucking the honey from Thor's fingertips. Myth was was playing on the stereo. Not loud. Just there. And Thor had boosted Loki up to sit on the counter top while they kissed in the kitchen, licking into each other's mouths with languid strokes, humming and making breathy secret sounds. When Loki's heels started to dig into Thor's back, Thor scooped him up and carried him into the bedroom. They were lit by the chevron of light spilling through the door from the living room. The music was drifting in, too.

They'd kept kissing through Lazuli.

By Troublemaker Loki was inside of Thor and moving slowly above him. Taking him apart with restraint Thor couldn't fathom.

But Loki was going to pieces in his own way. His hips were keeping it together, but his heart had been spilling out his mouth and into Thor's ears. He was following the beat of the song. Thor had wondered if the motion was conscious and swiftly concluded it was not, which was the reason it was working: Loki wasn't thinking about the sex.

Thor can hear his brother's words overlaid on the album now. Remember where their hands had been. Every note and lyric is like a map of that night. He can feel the ghost of Loki's hips on his inner thighs. Loki's lips on his face. The sweat and heat everywhere they were pressed together.

_Like a hand you reached out to me_

_The thunder rolls in with the dawn_

“We're twins like this,” Loki had said. “One man. Not even air between us.”

_Tiny fingers on the edges_

 

“And I would have you. I'm yours. I was always yours. Never doubt it. No law can make me any more or less your brother.”

_In the night we stick together_

“I held my breath for this for so long.”

_The walls are shaking in their skin_

“Begged gods I don't believe in to bring you to me.”

_Does it become you troublemaker_

“Forgot what it was to breathe.”

_Watch them unravel you_

“Lost faith in love.”

_Pulling everything apart_

“Joy of life.”

_Some day out of the blue it will find you_

“But then I'd see you smiling and I'd remember what I was waiting for.”

_Always._ _Always a face to remind me_

“And here you are, sweeter than dreams.”

_Someone like you._

“God, your skin. The taste of you. How does the world live without it? A lifetime isn't long enough. I will never have my fill of this. I will die trying.”

 

The swirling bounce of _New Year_ had Loki humming and laughing against Thor's lips, coming deep inside him with pulses of semen Thor could feel.

Eventually _Irene_ starts.

_It's a strange paradise._

At that point, Thor was lying awake with Loki unconscious on top of him, his cock gone soft between their bellies, still wading through his brother's words.

When the hidden track at the end had come on, it startled Thor, and the movement shook Loki awake. They limped away to wash up and Thor assumed the spell had been broken. They'd climbed back into bed in sleepy silence and Thor had thought that goodnight was all that was left to say.

But Loki had pulled Thor against him, shuffled their legs together, and stroked Thor's hair back from his face, still damp at the temples. And he had whispered things against Thor's lips in the dark. Beautiful things. Clear as glass and soft as fur. And the words had gradually grown more heated until Thor was hard and then Loki had him on his back and in his mouth and Thor came a few breaths later, gasping secrets of his own.

 _It doesn't change anything,_  Thor remembers.

That's what Loki had said about the bet.

 _Loki hadn't expected to see Eitri that night. We'd been together for months. Surely once would have met the terms. The way he ran for his life when he first told me. Forfeited. And, Christ, the things he said to me_ , Thor thinks.

After the tests for the prototypes are complete, Thor and Tony are aching and bloodied and ecstatic.

Because they flew. Without wings. With fire. Wilder than birds.

They celebrate with trips to the ER and a local dive bar.

Thor's joy follows him back home to Philadelphia.

It's a Thursday afternoon.

He finds an impressive array of dildos drying on sheets of paper towel on the kitchen counter. His huge stock pot is in the dish rack. Loki has been boiling his toys.

It strikes Thor as sweet and slightly sad. He's glad Loki's libido is still churning, but he gets a twinge of guilt for letting him go untouched again.

When Loki comes in the door at six and sees his brother on the balcony grilling kebabs he goes still and stares. His eyes devour broad shoulders. Bare feet. Blond hair done up in a messy bun, still wet from the shower. A tissue-thin white long sleeve tee rolled up to the elbows. Very short shorts in dove grey. And a bracelet. The silver feather is still curled around Thor's left wrist.

Loki has the gold snake around his own arm.

He kicks off his shoes and empties his pockets. Darts into the bathroom to wash his face. Changes into cooler clothes - linen shorts and a threadbare poplin shirt with the sleeves rolled up.

When he comes back out, Thor is setting dinner on the table.

“Your forehead,” Loki gasps.

There's a bruised bump with a nasty scrape at its summit between Thor's hairline and his left eyebrow.

“I'll show you how I got it after we eat,” Thor says, grinning.

He walks around the table and wraps Loki in his arms, rubbing his back. Loki buries his face in Thor's neck and breathes deeply. His arms circle Thor's waist and press him close. He's afraid to let go. Afraid it will be goodbye.

“Shhh,” Thor soothes. “We're okay.”

And Loki sobs his relief onto Thor's shoulder. When he lifts his head, Thor darts forward and presses their lips together. Loki hums and urges Thor's mouth open and they stand kissing and breathing hard for several minutes before Thor gives his brother a gentle squeeze.

“Come on,” Thor coaxes. “Dinner's getting cold. We'll talk after we eat, 'kay?”

Loki nods and they sit side by side, feet brushing together and elbows bumping, sharing a beer.

Thor pulls up a video on his laptop while Loki loads the dishwasher.

“Ready?” Thor asks, and Loki walks over to watch.

It's Thor. He's in a strange suit.

He can hear a man's voice coming from behind the camera.

“Come on, Tinkerbell, show me what you got.”

Thor's grin is enormous and the cameraman is backing away rapidly. Thor aims his hands at the ground. And then he's up in the air, shifting his wrists to spin himself through space. The camera shakes with Stark's laughter.

“Why the fuck are you so good at this?” Tony asks.

“You're flying,” Loki gasps, and Thor nods next to him. “That is the most gorgeous death trap I've ever seen.”

Thor laughs and nods rapidly.

Come on, Thor says, slipping sandals on. Loki follows suit.

“Where are we going?” Loki asks.

“Capogiro.”

They walk out into the early evening air. It's finally cooling off. The nights have been pleasant. It's the season that has always seemed to hold the most promise to both of the brothers. The beginning of the school year. The slow death of the sun. The mess of summer shriveling and raining to the ground to rot, leaving everything bare and pristine to be bleached and blanketed by snow. The excesses of Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas almost palpable ahead of them.

“I'm sorry I ran out on you like that,” Thor sighs as they amble down the sidewalk, and Loki looks at him like he's crazy.

“It was better than I deserved,” Loki says.

“No it wasn't. I left you hanging. It was such a shitty thing to do. I just... didn't know what to say. Didn't want to make it worse. Didn't want to lose my temper and hurt you.”

“I wanted to apologize. Kind of,” Loki shrugs, settling his hands in his pockets. “But I didn't want to lie to you. I wasn't sorry. I'm still not. I don't know if I ever would have found the nerve if Eitri hadn't given me that push. I think we would have just drifted apart. I wasn't about to waste a chance to lighten his wallet and get what I wanted in the process.”

Thor snorts. He wants to take Loki's arm, but that would be tricky if they bumped into anyone they knew. So he musses Loki's hair and runs his fingertips down his spine. Loki smiles.

They eat so much gelato they raise the eyebrows of the cashier. They take a meandering route home, walking until their stomachs stop hating them.

Loki shaves and showers, happy to see Thor's towel on the hook, his whiskers in the sink, and his blond hair stuck to the soap, replenishing the pieces of Thor that were picked up by the vacuum and washed down the drain. Loki's supply was getting low. He had placed a few strands of Thor's hair between the pages of _Moby Dick_ for safekeeping.

They flop down on the mattress, exhausted by their relief.

Thor is soothed by the familiar scent of his brother's skin. It's overlaid on his own now. Soaked into the sheets.

Loki wants to ask Thor for things, but he feels like it would be greedy. Ungrateful. Because Thor is here. Home. It seems like that should be enough to sate him. But Loki has an itch he can't scratch, and it crawls like a spider beneath his skin.

He still wants Thor to hit him.

He's been wanting it the entire time they've been apart.

He looked forward to his meals because Thor told him to eat them. But it wasn't enough.

Nothing's ever been quite enough. But Loki likes his privacy, so he won't leave scars. He tends to pluck hair from his arms. Sometimes from the hairline around his forehead. Or from his crotch. To smack the tops of his thighs with a wooden yardstick. To pinch himself. He likes breaking in new dress shoes because it always gives him blisters, and then those hurt for days. He revels in stubbed toes, bruised shins, and smashed funny bones. Loves paper cuts. He always puts alcohol on them and savors the sting.

Thor can hear his brother's breaths beside him. Too short. Too shallow. Conscious.

He rolls onto his side and pulls Loki close against him. The windows are open in their room and the breeze is cool on their shoulders. The warmth of their bodies is welcome.

“What's wrong?” Thor says.

And it's easier like this. The closer Loki is to Thor, the more freely words leave his lips, whispered like secrets. Or warnings.

“I want a safeword,” Loki breathes. “And a reason to need it.”

He hears Thor take a deep breath in through his nose and a let it out through his lips. Thor rubs his back and kisses the tip of his nose.

“We're going to have to share one,” Thor says. “Because I don't know if I can do it.”

Loki nods.

Thor keeps rubbing Loki's back and Loki wonders if that's as far as the conversation will go for one night. Thor's reaction was better than he hoped. It wasn't the absolutely not he was expecting.

“Eurydice means stop. Orpheus means go. Persephone means proceed with caution,” Thor says, and Loki nods again, smiling.

“You read my poems?”

“I always read your poems,” Thor answers.

“When do we start?” Loki asks.

“Tomorrow's Friday. We can start when you get back from work and we won't have any interruptions for two days.”

Loki nods.

And then Thor is throwing a thigh over Loki's hip and nudging his lips apart and they kiss until their cocks are full and eager. Thor flips so they can suck each other off at the same time, and Loki licks Thor clean.

“Did you just cheat?” Thor asks. “I said we'd start tomorrow night.”

Loki's pulse wakes from its post-orgasm stupor. He sneezes.

Thor spoons up behind him, nuzzles his neck, and whispers lovely things until they fall asleep.

Loki wants to cry when his alarm goes off in the morning, but he drags himself out of the warmth of Thor's arms to make coffee. Thor comes out soon after. He wants to get his studio back up and running and sketch out some ideas he had for a commission that a patron of his proposed. He makes Loki lunch and kisses him goodbye.

Thor's day passes in a blink while Loki's time crawls, tormenting him.

When Loki finally gets home, he finds Thor rolling Waldorf salad up in romaine leaves and there's a pitcher of sangria on the counter, full of floating grapes and melon, smelling bright and sweet.

Loki gets two glasses out and fills them to the brim.

“Holy shit,” Thor laughs. “Rough day?”

“Never-fucking-ending.”

After dinner, Thor lies on the couch and pulls Loki down on top of him, rolling up his shirt and scratching his back. They lie there like that and rest for half an hour, listening to their bellies gurgling.

“Tell me this isn't a stand-in for conversations you don't want to have,” Thor whispers.

“It isn't. It's a conversation I do want to have... in a language I want to learn.”

“And it takes two to tango,” Thor says.

Loki nods.

“And this isn't punishment for a wrong that's already been forgiven?” Thor asks. “You understand I'm not angry.”

“It's not pure punishment,” Loki says. “More like a reward. Or analgesic.”

Thor never thought of it that way. It loosens his sinews.

“Are there things you already know you don't want?” Thor murmurs.

“No scat. No golden showers. Not even a mention of daddy-kink or non-con.”

“Never any danger of those,” Thor reassures with a little shudder, kissing Loki's cheek and scratching his shoulder blades.

“No collars. No third parties. Nothing beyond these walls. Nothing gross - I'm not licking boots or toilets. No marks that are going to show over my clothes and make people think I'm being abused, or that you're abusive.”

Thor nods.

“What about you?” Loki asks.

“Um... Nothing that's going to send you to the doctor's office or ER, obviously. No permanent damage. I'm not going to tell you I don't love you. I might want to switch with you so I know what you're feeling. Physically, anyway.”

Loki nods and Thor stretches under him and settles once more with a sigh, rubbing Loki's back in long firm strokes and feeling Loki sag against him. He presses his lips to Loki's neck in a tiny kiss and then lifts them just enough that they brush the downy hairs on Loki's skin, tickling like gossamer.

“Anything you know you do want?” Thor asks.

Loki takes a slow breath and brings his lips to Thor's ear.

“I want you to slap my ass,” Loki says, as quietly as he can.

Thor hums and runs his hands down Loki's back, settling them on his behind and kneading the firm cheeks lightly.

“Can do,” Thor says.

Loki hugs Thor tight and buries his face in his neck. They spend several minutes like that. Thor waits until Loki's grip on him has slackened before he speaks.

“Ready?” Thor asks.

“Yeah.”

Loki climbs off and they walk back to their room. Thor closes the door behind them and leans back against it. He's in faded jeans and a grey v-neck tee. His hair is down. He looks like Ralph Lauren's wettest dream.

Loki sneezes.

“Orpheus,” Thor says, and Loki takes a deep breath and a step toward his brother. “No. Go stand by the foot of the bed.”

Loki stops and then backs up until his calves brush the comforter.

“Take your shirt off and set it on the dresser. Fold it first,” Thor says.

Loki does. It's a thin plaid button up. The buttons take a while. Thor is hypnotized by the way his brother's pretty fingers flow down the front of his shirt in a pattern.

“Now your pants. Nice and slow.”

Loki is wearing light weight wool trousers in a pale grey. Thor loves how the cut plays up how long Loki's legs are. Loki has to bend in half to lower the slacks. He steps out of them and folds them carefully, setting them with his top.

And now he's standing in his tented boxer briefs, waiting. He can see Thor's cock pushing against the front of his jeans, and it fills him with excitement. Knowing Thor would spank him was a relief, but the thought of Thor getting off on it is like winning the lottery.

“Get on your hands and knees on the foot of the bed. Parallel to it.”

Loki does.

Thor finally walks over. He sets his left hand over the back of Loki's neck as his right hand slides from the top of Loki's spine to the small of his back, rubbing a circle there.

“Let me know if you want another,” Thor says. “Or if you want it harder.”

“Okay.”

“Ready?”

“Yes.”

Thor gives Loki's neck a squeeze and runs his left hand between Loki's shoulder blades while his right slides along the base of Loki's spine, thumb hooking the waist band of his underwear and dragging it past his buttocks. Loki's cock is still trapped in it. The slit is not happy.

“Oooo,” Thor says, reaching under Loki and stroking him through the fabric. “You're caught like a fish.”

Thor leaves him that way.

He's rubbing Loki's ass and kneading the cheeks harder and harder until he's grabbing tight fistfuls of warm flesh, nails leaving white crescents that bloom an irate pink a moment later.

Loki's cock is bobbing in its cotton prison, angry and ecstatic.

The first slap takes Loki by surprise and he gasps. His right ass cheek stings and then burns and then feels pleasantly warm.

Thor waits.

“Another,” Loki says, when he remembers himself.

“Another what?" Thor growls.

“Spanking.”

Thor pulls the seat of Loki's underwear so that it drags over the tip of his cock.

“Please,” Loki gasps. “Another please.”

“That's better,” Thor purrs, and slaps Loki's left buttock.

Loki lets himself enjoy the rapidly shifting sensations coming from his backside.

“Another please. And harder. Please.”

Thor obliges him. Loki's breath leaves his lungs in a high pitched whoosh. He thinks about how hard Thor hits steel to shape it. He wishes he could see Thor's arms.

“Another please.”

Thor gives it to him.

“Another please. Harder please.”

Loki can hear Thor take a deep breath. His left hand is smoothing Loki's ribs. He snaps his wrist and the slap his hand makes against Loki's skin sounds like it came from a belt. And now Loki wants Thor to take a belt to him. Later.

“Another please,” Loki breathes.

A matching snap. Another burn. It never quite cools off.

“Another please.”

Loki asks for more until his skin feels like it's gone from hot to cold and he's breathing hard and sweating. His arms are shaking.

He hears Thor's zipper and a soft moan beside him. Thor's fingers skate over Loki's reddened skin and then lift. Loki can hear Thor's breathing pick up and stutter. Hear his clothes rustle and shift with the motions of his arm. And then Loki's ass is wet and Thor is gasping next to him.

“Wait here,” Thor says, and leaves the room.

When Thor returns, he pauses behind his brother. Loki hears the whir of a lens focusing and then the little beep of a picture being taken. Thor shifts behind him and takes another. Leans closer and takes a few more. Loki hears the camera being set on the dresser and then the flap of fabric. Thor finally takes off the rest of his clothes. He pulls Loki's underwear down, painting cool streaks along the backs of his thighs with the semen that soaked into the waist band. He wipes the spunk from Loki's ass with the soiled garment and tosses it across the room into the hamper.

“Can you stand safely?” Thor asks, and Loki nods.

Thor backs him up to the wall, stopping him six inches in front of it and leaning him backward so that his shoulder blades are touching it but there's no pressure on his ass. He nudges Loki's legs apart. And then Thor is on his knees and he's taking Loki's hands in his own and setting them on the back of his head. Loki fists Thor's hair and then his skull hits the door as Thor licks a hot stripe from the seam of his balls to the sticky tip of his prick.

A dozen drags of Thor's lips over the length of his cock is all it takes before Loki pulls Thor in tight and spurts come down the back of his throat, both of them moaning.

They take a cool shower. Loki stands with his hands braced on the tile while Thor washes him carefully.

They drink cold water in the kitchen and then shuffle back to the bedroom. Thor grabs the camera and they curl up face to face. He opens the pictures he took and shows them to Loki.

Loki sees the red outlines of fingers. The blurry glint of semen. He stares at the shots for a long time before turning the camera off and handing it back to Thor.

“All set?” Thor asks, and Loki nods.

“Eurydice,” Thor murmurs, and kisses Loki's forehead. “Was that okay?”

“Yeah. Perfect. Okay for you?”

“Yeah,” Thor says. “Is your butt okay? Want me to put ice on it?”

“No, I want to feel it,” Loki says, and Thor nods.

Loki lets out a happy sigh and snuggles into Thor's chest.

Saturday brings pinching and biting.

Sunday brings a belt.

The weeknights are delicious vanilla dreams, spent kissing, sucking, laughing, squeezing, fucking, and nuzzling each other between the sheets. With a little more pinching, biting, and scratching than before, and the occasional playful smack after Loki waves his ass in Thor's face.

Sometimes Thor will press on a bruise or a welt where it's hidden under Loki's clothes during the day, and Loki will lean into it and hum.

They acquire new toys. Switches. Canes. Rope.

Thor fucks Loki's mouth until his lips are numb and his chin is soaked in his own dribblings and Thor comes on his face, smearing the semen onto Loki's features with the head of his cock and making Loki lick him clean, one eye stuck shut with a blob of spunk.

“I need more than that,” Loki says afterward.

“I'll tell you what you need. Know your place, brother,” Thor snarls, yanking Loki's head back by the hair and pinching Loki's left nipple, digging his nails into the tender flesh.

And Loki is happy.

Thor has lifted the responsibility from Loki's shoulders. Taken the reins. Loki can float, an instrument strung with nerves for Thor to play. To tune. Loki needs Thor to make him right. Good. Bring him back up. To transmute Loki's shame into marks on is skin, so Loki can watch his sins fade from purple to green to yellow to nothing. To transform Loki's failures into something physical. To exorcise them. For Thor's strength to reveal Loki's weaknesses and drum them from his skin like dust from a rug.

And afterward, Thor is always so sweet to him. And the breadth of Thor's strength - the full spectrum of it - passes before Loki's eyes in the span of an hour or three. Thor has the fortitude to beat the man he loves because it's what Loki needs. The fearlessness to love his brother more than the world would let him. And he has such care and worry for the health of Loki's body, it makes Loki feel unearthly. An angel of flesh and blood and bone, crying onto cotton sheets while a god of love and feathers forgives him for things he never needs to confess. Thor babies him, soothing stinging skin when Loki has drunk his fill of his injuries. Fixing him lovely meals. And the trust Thor has that Loki's mind feels better after a beating makes Loki's heart flutter. That Thor doesn't send him off to a therapist or tell him there's something wrong with him. That he believes in a thing that even Loki can't quite put into words. It lets Loki sleep like a log.

And Loki finds that, after the guilty fallout from the Eitri incident has faded, he still wants Thor to hit him. And he itches to give Thor reasons to do it.

 _Of course I'm a brat_ , he thinks, rolling his eyes at himself.

He likes to lie to Thor.

But he spins his lies from a thread of truth.

Erik, one of Thor's patrons, brought a friend to a gallery opening for Thor's artwork. Her name is Jane. She friended Thor on facebook and sent him flirty messages. She's gorgeous and brilliant. Loki hated her instantly.

Loki has Labor Day off. Thor works for half of it.

“Orpheus,” Loki says, the second Thor walks in the door.

Thor raises his eyebrows and gets a Coke out of the fridge. He makes sandwiches and slices apples and the brothers eat together.

“What did you do all morning?” Thor asks, when they're done with lunch.

“I spent the day face down in Jane's pussy,” Loki says, from his perch on the arm of the couch. “She said if she couldn't have you, she'd settle for me.”

“And what does Jane's pussy taste like, Loki?”

And Loki thrills at this, because Thor knows Loki has no answer. He knows all of Loki's weaknesses. His deficiencies. Knows how to sting his pride. How to embarrass him. How to fill him with delicious shame, and how to braid it together with bright waves of pain, making it stronger and lovelier.

“Hmm?” Thor continues, walking over and knocking Loki onto his back on the couch, sitting down on Loki's hair so it pulls tight and stings, making his eyes water. “What does it feel like? Smell like? Does she have fur? Does she wax, or shave, or trim? Or none of the above? Does she have hair peeking out the edges of her panties? Did you get it in your mouth and have to pause to pull it off your tongue? Brush it aside to get to her skin? Did you make her wet? Is she a squirter? Does she have full lips or tiny flaps? A little clit or a big bean? Was her vulva pink or dun? Did you thumb her anus a little? Make her twitch? Did she moan when you slid your tongue into her cunt? Was she tight? Did she touch herself? What's your favorite part of eating a peach, Loki?”

Loki's breaths get faster and his throat gets tighter.

“You're not lying to me, are you?” Thor asks. “I could never trust you again.”

Loki tries not to smile. His face twists like the Grinch's.

“Fish,” Loki says, and Thor doesn't laugh, but it's a near thing.

Thor shakes his head and sighs.

“Go to your room.”

Thor doesn't get up.

Loki's neck strains to pull his hair out from under Thor's ass so he can comply.

He goes to the guest bedroom, which they've made into a proper room for Loki so that they can have their friends over without inadvertently outing themselves.

Loki sits on the bed and waits.

He hears Thor leave the apartment.

He listens to the lights buzzing.

Thor is back just under twenty minutes later.

He comes into Loki's room and leans against the door.

“Strip and lie down on your back in bed,” Thor says, and Loki does. “Close your eyes.”

Thor climbs on top of Loki still clothed, straddling his waist. He takes Loki's right nipple between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand and pinches it tight, then rests his weight on that hand. Loki hears a popping sound from somewhere near Thor's face and feels wet strokes on his skin, but it's hard to focus on them with the distraction of his burning nipple. Thor continues gently scraping and tickling his way down Loki's torso, pausing every now and again.

Thor climbs off after five minutes and the air feels cold to Loki's breast without Thor's hand on it, even though the little peak of his nipple is burning with pain.

“Keep your eyes closed and stand up.”

Loki does. Thor walks him toward the corner or the room. He puts something in Loki's hands - a throw blanket – then raises Loki's arms so that he's holding the fabric in front of himself, as high as his chin. Thor turns him so that he's aimed at the closed bedroom door.

“Look in the mirror when you open your eyes.”

Loki does.

“Persephone,” Thor says, and Loki blinks.

Thor stands behind Loki and looks over his shoulder. He pushes Loki's hands down an inch.

And there's writing. And Thor wrote it backward so Loki could read it in the mirror. The thoughtfulness makes Loki's cock twitch, and the word makes his heart race.

 _Liar_ is written, in Thor's strong hand - somehow geometric and fluid all at once, just below Loki's collarbones.

“Orpheus,” Loki says, and Thor nods and pushes Loki's hands down another inch.

 _Virgin_ is next, and Loki sucks in a breath. Such a strange word. Full of worship and scorn in equal measure for opposite sexes.

Prude follows.

_Ice-queen_

_Snob_

_Brat_ , and Loki grins at this.

_Dildo-jockey_

_Cocksucker_

_Outcast_

_Brother-fucker_

_Felon_

_The God of Incest_ stretches between the crests of Loki's hipbones.

Loki's erection is holding up the blanket. He feels the hair on his balls tickling his inner thighs when it brushes them as his scrotum swirls around his testes.

Thor turns away and turns down the bed.

“On all fours. Knees at the edge by me,” Thor says.

Loki gets into position.

Thor spreads Loki's knees slightly and then takes his own clothes off. Gets lube and tissues. Coats their skin. Loki is surprised when Thor puts lube on his cock. Thor tends to make Loki wait to come. Teases him. Brings him to the brink of orgasm and then leaves him to stew for a while.

Thor pushes in slowly, which Loki finds disappointing. He was hoping for a rougher touch.

Thor's concern for his health is both heartwarming and irritating to Loki. Thor won't fist him. He's afraid to damage Loki's anus. He won't tell Loki when he can and can't piss.

“You'll get a urinary tract infection. No,” Thor had said, when Loki suggested it, and Loki huffed.

Thor lets Loki get used to having a cock up his ass for a minute and then leans forward to twirl his fingers through Loki's hair. He separates the strands into even heaps on the left and right halves of the back of Loki's scalp and then begins winding them up like rope.

Loki's neck cranes farther and farther back as Thor pulls on the reins he has made of Loki's hair. Loki can barely close his mouth. His breathing is sticky. Thor starts fucking him and Loki's head bobs as Thor's hips thrust.

“Touch yourself,” Thor says, and Loki reaches his right hand between his legs.

“Both hands,” Thor corrects. “And don't sit up.”

Loki carefully lifts his left arm until both of his hands are busy between his legs and Thor is holding him up by the hair.

His head aches.

He's drooling because he gags if he swallows with his neck at this angle.

He pictures his scalp ripping free from his skull in greasy chunks and feels his erection throb in his fists.

Thor leans back to better balance their weight as he heaves his hips forward.

Loki is suspended over the sheets like the figurehead of a ship. He almost wishes he had a pretty set of breasts to complete the look. He's always thought Thor's come would look marvelous spattered across a perky pair of tits.

Loki starts choking out garbled moans and whimpers and Thor tells him to come.

Loki does.

Thor keeps fucking him and Loki's oversensitive cock feels like it's on fire, and like it might be suffering from seasickness.

Thor's breaths come shorter and shallower and then he pulls out and spurts little jets of semen onto Loki's back.

“Put your arms down,” Thor says.

Once Loki is holding himself up, Thor runs his index finger through the ropes of come on Loki's skin and then slides it into Loki's ass, pushing down toward Loki's belly and prodding his prostate, making Loki clench and whimper and squirm.

He reaches around and strokes Loki's softening cock and Loki grunts and his asshole flexes around Thor's finger.

“You deserve it,” Thor says. “You're a monster.”

Loki's eyes roll back in his head with pleasure.

Thor slides his finger out and takes a slow breath.

“Eurydice,” Thor says, and bends to kiss the small of Loki's back. “Is your head okay?”

“Yeah,” Loki says. “Throbbing. Good.”

“Shower?”

“Mmmhmm. Will this wash off?”

“It's just liquid eyeliner,” Thor says, and Loki hums.

And Thor asks if they can switch.

Loki spanks him and tells him to touch himself. Tells him they should switch all the time.

“I could run around sleeping with everyone,” Loki says. “And you could stay home and fuck yourself. And, later, when you went the the bathroom in a restaurant or club, you'd see my name and number on the walls. 'For a good time, call.' And I'd let the world fuck me to ruin while you came all over your fingers and called out my name.”

Thor's face has long fallen and his erection has withered.

“Eurydice,” Loki says, and realizes he has just safeworded on himself.

 _If anyone could manage it, it would be me,_ he marvels.

“What's wrong?” Thor asks, confused.

“You're not enjoying this,” Loki says, eying Thor's flaccid flesh.

“It doesn't have to be about sex,” Thor says. “Or even pleasure. I just want to understand. I can take it.”

“I know you can.” Loki laughs. “But I can't. Sorry. Not this way. That was torturing you, not teasing you. We'll figure something out.”

Thor nods.

“You were doing all right with the spanking, though?” Loki asks.

“Yeah,” Thor smiles. “That was good. Better than good. You can be rough with me. Really rough.”

Loki grins and hugs Thor tight.

And this evening has not been spent in vain. Loki has learned where Thor's post-scene tenderness comes from. He wants to coddle Thor. To make him hot coco and wrap him in blankets. Cuddle and kiss him. He settles for bringing Thor a glass of water and snuggling him until they fall asleep.

Loki stumbles upon it when he's putting gas in his car. There's a gorgeous woman at the pump next to him. She could be Thor's twin. And Loki spends the rest of the day thinking about his brother's beauty. How improbably androgynous it is. Thor is enormous. All arms and shoulders. And yet, when his hair is down, his face softens in a way that is undeniably feminine. Dainty almost. And his eyelashes are ridiculous. More than one person has asked if Thor wears mascara. Someone asked if he wore eye shadow, because the blue of Thor's irises seems to spill out onto his lids with some trick of light. 

Loki shops online on his lunch break.

He thinks of Thor's short shorts. His tiara - he still wears it when they're sitting around the apartment, or when they go to hang out at Volstagg's.

He warns Thor not to open any packages that come because they're presents.

Loki asks if they can switch and Thor says of course.

“Orpheus,” Loki says. “Undress for me.”

Thor does.

Loki pulls a box out from under the bed in the guest room.

“Put these on,” Loki says, and hands Thor a pair of lacy white panties.

They're women's. Extra large. There still isn't nearly enough room in them for Thor's cock. It stretches the fabric out in front and grants Loki a glimpse of the sides of Thor's balls. From behind, the top of the cleft of his ass is uncovered, and the lower curves of his buttocks peek out the bottoms.

“You're a big girl,” Loki purrs and hears his brother's swift intake of breath.

“Put this on for me now,”  Loki says, handing Thor a knee-length white petticoat.

Voluminous and sheer. A vintage style. Late fifties.

Thor steps into it and Loki pulls it up to the nip in his waist. Loki pats the edge of the bed and Thor carefully arranges the skirt before he sits on it.

“Back straight and knees together, dear,” Loki corrects gently.

He brushes Thor's hair until it falls in smooth arcs down to his shoulders.

“Has anyone told you what a beautiful young woman you've become?”

“No,” Thor murmurs, and it's the truth.

“They're fools,” Loki says softly.

“Thank you,” Thor whispers.

Loki sits beside him and tips Thor's face toward him with a cool fingertip to the far edge of the jaw.

“May I kiss you?” Loki asks.

“Yes,” Thor says, and closes his eyes.

Loki presses a chaste peck to Thor's cheek.

Thor opens his eyes and looks at his brother.

Loki points a finger to the matching spot on his own cheek and Thor leans forward to kiss him. Loki stares at the blue of Thor's eyes through the black of his lashes, lowered as Thor looks at Loki's cheek.

They go back and forth like this, Loki leading Thor with kisses that circle closer and closer to their lips until they finally land there and Thor hums. Loki puts his hand on Thor's knee as they nudge each other's lips open. His fingers reach up under the petticoat. He pushes Thor's legs apart and follows the inside of Thor's right thigh up to the crease.

Loki's hand cups Thor through the lace of the panties and Thor's breath hitches.

“Has anyone ever touched you like this before?” Loki asks.

“No,” Thor gasps.

“Does it please you?”

“Yes.”

Loki kisses him again, sucking on Thor's tongue. Nipping his lips.

“Has anyone ever kissed you here?” Loki says, squeezing Thor's cock.

“No,” Thor gasps.

“Would you like me to?”

“Yes.”

Loki kneels at Thor's feet. He lifts the skirt to see Thor's prick propping up the panties, stretching and warping the pattern of the lace. He spreads Thor's legs wide and kisses his way up Thor's thighs. When he gets to Thor's crotch he stares for a moment and then rubs his face back and forth over it, feeling the silk sliding over his cheeks and Thor's cock bobbing beneath it.

Loki leans back and pushes Thor's legs shut.

“Lift your hips for me, sweetheart,” Loki says, and Thor braces his arms on the bed to raise himself up so that Loki can slide the panties down.

He slips them off of Thor's feet and sets them on the bed. His hands smooth Thor's calves. He can't make up his mind if he wants to ask Thor to shave. He decides against it. He likes the contrast of fuzzy legs and lingerie. He loves the glint of gold hair and the tickle of it on his back when Thor has his legs around him. He spreads Thor's knees again and lifts the petticoat, seeing Thor's erection bouncing in greeting. He leans in and breathes deeply. Musk and sex. And Thor. He licks the creases of Thor's thighs and Thor's hips shift, arching to offer up more of his skin. Loki presses his cheek to the side of Thor's cock, soft skin on softer skin, then turns his head and kisses the ridge of the crown.

Thor watches the petticoat shifting around his brother's head as it circles his cock, licking and kissing and bobbing. Thor's breaths get shorter. They almost seem to tickle his lungs.

“Loki,” Thor whispers.

Loki hums around Thor's cock.

“Loki,” Thor gasps again. “Brother. I'm going to come,” Thor breathes, and Loki moans and comes in his pants and keeps sucking.

A wet, breathy sigh leaves Thor's lips when his orgasm takes him.

Loki licks Thor clean, slides the panties back on, and rises unsteadily to his legs. He sits beside Thor on the bed again and strokes his hair.

“You got so wet,” Loki whispers, and Thor closes his eyes. “You taste so good. If you kiss me you'll see.”

They kiss and breathe hard through their noses, gushing warm air over each other's lips. Loki's hand is on Thor's waist and Thor takes it and guides it to his chest, splaying it over a pectoral, the nipple pressing up into Loki's palm. Loki lays Thor down on his back and they kiss until they've calmed. Loki toys with Thor's hair.

“Ready?” Loki whispers, and Thor nods. “Eurydice.”

Thor takes Loki's hand and squeezes. He's smiling up at the ceiling.

Loki has never been more proud of himself or of his brother. Never felt more clever.

Thor loves this on two levels. He loves feeling feminine and soft and vulnerable. And he loves being able to give Loki everything he never had – loves to become someone new for his brother.

And the next night Loki calls Thor pretty and princess.

Eases his hand slowly up under Thor's skirt. Traces his anus.

“I want to kiss you here,” Loki says, and Thor nods demurely.

Thor isn't exactly ashamed or embarrassed. He's a little shy. But mainly he's excited. He preens under the attention. Arching his back. Moving more precisely. Crossing his legs or folding them up under himself. Pressing his pecs between his biceps so they push together and make a little valley. Tucking his hair behind an ear.

Loki holds him and strokes him and spoons him and fucks him. Sometimes they dance. He braids Thor's hair up into a crown.

They've both been growing their hair out for very different reasons. Loki is making his into more effective reins. Thor wants a ponytail that sways when he walks, and he wants his hair to look long even when he curls it.

Thor comes home early from work and lies on his back with his legs in the air, spreading himself open with two fingers and pouring lube into his hole.

When Loki gets home, Thor is on the guest bed in a skirt and panties, and when Loki reaches up under the pleats and pulls the fragile fabric aside, he finds that Thor's skin is sticky.

“You're so wet,” Loki says.

“You make me wet,” Thor whispers.

Sometimes Loki worries about what he has to offer his brother. A lifetime of lies. No children. No grandchildren for their parents. No significant others to bring home openly.

But they're both happy, so he can't be sorry.

 

In October they go to apple orchards. Thor bakes pies. Loki eats them greedily. Thor offers to act as a plate. Loki eats as slowly as possible, and doesn't waste a morsel.

For Volstagg's Halloween party, they dress as different versions of the same thing. Gary Oldman's Dracula. Loki goes as the English dandy. Thor goes as the armored warrior. Thor is as affectionate as he can be in public. Throwing an arm around Loki and jostling him as they stand around a campfire at Volstagg's house. Hugging him hello. Loki appreciates the effort.

The holidays arrive. Frigga and Odin plan to come to their place for Thanksgiving since they have more free time to waste in the heavy traffic.

Loki picks them up from the airport on Tuesday night and it begins.

“Hi sweetie,” Frigga says, throwing her arms around him and kissing his cheek firmly.

He hums and squeezes her and kisses her in turn, grinning.

“Where's Thor?” Odin asks, and Loki catches his mother rolling her eyes behind her husband.

“Home fixing dinner. He takes up half the car, anyway.”

Loki picks up their bags.

“Look at you,” Frigga marvels, squeezing the back of Loki's arm. “Hale and hearty.”

“He's a good influence on me. It's awful,” Loki moans, and Frigga laughs.

He's been running and doing light strength training and yoga, wanting to keep up with Thor between the sheets when they're feeling rowdy.

Odin spends the ride home asking about Thor.

Loki is used to it.

Thor has pork tenderloin ready when they get back and Loki wants to kiss him. It's his favorite. He needs a treat after traffic and the bustle of the airport and an hour trapped in the car with his father.

Odin has a robust hug for Thor.

Thor sees Frigga and Loki shaking their heads behind Odin's back.

“Smells good. When did you learn to cook?” Odin asks.

“Couple years ago. Volstagg helped.”

“Does Loki cook?”

I'm right fucking here, Loki thinks. You could ask me.

“Not often. He doesn't enjoy it. He's good at baking, though, which is dangerous.”

“Does he do the dishes afterward at least?” Odin continues.

Still right here, Loki thinks.

“No,” Thor says, setting the table while Loki pours wine and they take their seats.

Loki and Frigga bat silent groans back and forth with their eyes.

“Does he clean?”

“God no,” Thor laughs.

“What does he do?” Odin asks.

“He puts a roof over our heads,” Thor says.

“What happened? We could have lent you money. How long have you been in trouble?”

“I'm not. Nothing happened, Dad.” Thor says. “His bank balance is always higher and we were just wasting checks sending measly amounts of money back and forth every month. After groceries and utilities it was always even anyway. Keeping score was a waste of time.”

“Does he do the shopping or the laundry?”

“No.”

“Why didn't you just hire a maid if you wanted someone to feed you and clean up after you?” Odin asks, turning to Loki.

Thor speaks before Loki can answer.

“I'm going to be doing all that stuff for myself anyway,” Thor says. “It doesn't take me any more time to do it for him, too.”

“That's not why I'm living here,” Loki says.

“Why are you living here?” Odin asks.

Thor is gaping at their father, exasperated and edging toward angry.

“Because if he's under the roof, then it's home,” Loki says, and Frigga beams at him.

Odin grunts.

“You're getting too old for this,” Odin says.

“Too old for a brother?” Loki laughs. “Is he something I'm supposed to outgrow?”

Odin says nothing.

The rest of the evening passes in much the same way.

Thor is running out of patience. There's only so much edge wine can take off.

“Do you want the sofa, or you wanna bunk with me?” Thor asks, tilting his head toward his brother on the couch.

“I don't know. How hard is it to get rid of pubic lice?” Loki asks.

“They need hair to hold onto, so you won't have a problem,” Thor says, and they both snort and shake with their giggling while Odin frowns and Frigga groans to hide her laughter.

She says she's tired and shoos Odin off to bed ahead of her. She sighs and shakes her head in apology and kisses the boys goodnight.

Thor and Loki use the bathroom separately and it feels like a massive waste of time.

Thor locks the bedroom door behind him when he comes back from the shower and flops naked into bed. Loki had put on boxers and a tee to be on the safe side. Thor tugs him close.

“Was it like that in the car?” Thor whispers.

“Yep.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Pretty much.”

“I'm taking him to the studio tomorrow and teaching him some forging. You and Mom can stay home and enjoy the wonders of sanity.”

“I love you,” Loki sighs and Thor rolls his brother on top of himself and scratches his back until Loki is drooling on his shoulder.

In the morning, Thor makes breakfast and then spirits Odin away.

Loki and Frigga sit on the couch with their coffee and sigh.

“I've been reading your poems,” she says softly.

“What's your verdict?”

“They're beautiful.”

He smiles and nudges her shoulder.

“Oh, go on,” he purrs and she smiles.

“They're heartbreaking.”

“That's just because they're about heartbreak,” Loki teases.

“What happened?”

Loki takes a deep breath but lets it flow back out over his lips without bending it into words.

“Are you all right?” she tries.

And he looks at her pretty eyes and then grins and nods.

“Good,” she sighs, relieved. “Now show me what's in your portfolio so I can tell my friends to look for your work when they're watching movies.”

Odin is tired but excited when he and Thor get back from the studio.

Frigga and Loki are visibly grateful. And drunk.

The rest of the holiday passes in a blur of cooking and eating and watching football. Loki has always liked football, to the surprise of everyone who's ever met him. But it's a bunch of muscular men in spandex playing grab-ass. Of course he likes it.

They walk to local independent stores to do a little Black Friday shopping. Gorge on leftovers. Let the turkey in their bellies drag them down into sleep.

On Saturday morning, Thor offers to take Loki's car to drive their parents back to the airport. Loki thanks him. He'll show his appreciation more thoroughly later.

Frigga and Loki say their goodbyes by the side of the car with long hugs and quiet sniffling.

“Christmas is just around the corner,” she says, and then grimaces, and they both giggle.

Odin nods a farewell to Loki, who returns the gesture. Thor wants to give Loki a bear hug and a thousand kisses, but just smiles and climbs into the car.

Loki is eating pie out of the pan at the dining table when Thor gets home.

Thor wants to take a picture. He has never seen this happen before – Loki, eating for pleasure.

He hangs his coat and kicks off his shoes before washing his hands, pouring two excessive glasses of wine, and sitting next to his brother. Thor opens his mouth like a baby bird and Loki shovels pumpkin pie and whipped cream into it. They eat and drink in silence until all the pie is gone.

“He's always been like that, hasn't he?” Thor says.

“Yep.”

“Sorry.”

“Not your fault.”

“You should have left him at the airport,” Thor says, and Loki snorts.

“I'll remember that trick for Christmas.”

Loki closes the blinds and turns on the stereo.

 _Bloom_.

Thor looks up.

“Sentiment,” Loki confesses, smiling and shaking his head at himself.

Thor nods and sets his brother on the kitchen counter.

Loki hums into their kiss.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I can't disable commenting on this site. If I could, I would. Please pretend that I have.


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